


Chaos Reign

by fourth_rose



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asgardian politics, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, BAMF Loki (Marvel), Brothers, Canon-Typical Violence, Endgame Fix-It, Family Issues, Fantastic Racism, Gen, Infinity Gems, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), King Loki (Marvel), Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Loki (Marvel)-centric, Odin (Marvel)'s A+ Parenting, POV Loki (Marvel), Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), all the fix-its basically, might as well fix everything while I'm at it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2020-02-09 08:42:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 70,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18634708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourth_rose/pseuds/fourth_rose
Summary: Thor once told Loki that he could be more than the God of Mischief – forgetting that Loki has been more than that from the very beginning.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So... Endgame, huh? *cracks knuckles*

He is aching all over, and yet he cannot remember ever feeling so... light. Every step he takes causes another flash of skull-splitting pain behind his eyes, but that seems entirely inconsequential compared to the hooks that used to tear into his brain like white-hot steel claws until he was barely able to think, barely able to remember who he was, why he was even still struggling against the ropes that had him dancing like a puppet, a mere plaything in the hands of those who were pulling his strings.

No more. He is being taken back to Asgard, where he will face the tender mercies of an executioner's axe or (if Odin is willing to let it become public knowledge that he has tricked the Golden Realm into mistaking a stolen Jötun changeling for a prince of Asgard) the hangman's noose, but either way, it will be _over_. If the Allmother has her way, he might be locked away for eternity instead, and even though that prospect seems less desirable, even Asgard's deepest dungeons hold little terror for one who has endured the hospitality of the Mad Titan and his children. It isn't that Loki is longing for either death or unending imprisonment, but given the alternative, he will gladly take either and consider himself –

Without warning, the world tilts sharply sideways like the deck of a ship hit by a strong gust of wind, making his stomach lurch and his vision grey out for a second. The blue glow of the Tesseract is suddenly _right there_ in front of him, at his feet, in his hands, and Loki feels his own magic surging in response, ripping a tear into the fabric of space and dragging him through before he even realizes what he's doing.

He hits a hard, flat surface and stays there for a moment, dizzy and disoriented, until the universe no longer feels like it's spinning in a mad dance around him.

The first thing that registers is the smell, familiar and strangely comforting, of dust and leather and something that might be... parchment?

Loki pries his eyes open, but to no avail; wherever he is, he has landed in complete darkness, and he has to bite down hard on the panic that wants to rise at the realization. Remembering what allowed him to come here in the first place, he carefully raises his head to look around, and sure enough, there's the soft blue glow of the Tesseract only a few feet away from him.

The cube comes to him without hesitation when he reaches for it. He knows the power it contains, is fully aware of the risk he is taking by touching it with his bare skin, but it seems content enough in his hand. Its gentle song fills Loki's mind and calms his racing heart until he can finally bring himself to pull enough of its energy into himself to dissolve his shackles and the thrice-damned muzzle.

Then, working some feeling back into his sore jaw, he pushes himself up on his elbows and looks around by the illumination the Tesseract provides.

He's on the wooden floor of a vast hall, entirely empty and filled with darkness. The Tesseract's light is reflected in the huge panes of windows that show nothing but blackness outside, although Loki's ears pick up a whisper of wind and rain from the other side of the glass. Wherever he is, it appears to be the middle of the night, which might be the reason the hall is deserted.

He climbs to his feet in spite of the protest from his aching bones and gently nudges the Tesseract to provide a little more illumination, caution be damned. It may be frivolous to use a source of cosmic power for a nightlight, but Loki is well aware that his seiðr is in even worse condition than his body, so he's willing to utilize every resource at his disposal. He assumes that the Tesseract will forgive him, considering how willingly it took him here when it could have left him stranded in the eternal darkness between realms just as easily.

 _Do not think of it, do not think of it_ –

Suppressing a shudder, Loki raises the cube to look around – and then almost drops it when he finally realizes why this place feels so familiar.

What he first took for walls are actually bookshelves, row after row soaring up towards the vaulted ceiling, thousands and thousands of books filling the darkness with a smell he has always associated with the peaceful joy of reading and exploring. Loki spent several decades here during his youth, and looking back, he probably has to consider those years the happiest time of his life.

He is standing in the Great Library of Vanaheim, unrivaled center of learning and study among the Nine Realms. The Tesseract has taken him to the one place in the universe he is still allowed, in his heart, to consider home.

+++

The Great Library is like its own city within Vanaheim's capital, with plenty of smaller buildings that provide lodgings for the scholars who come here from all over the Nine. While Vanaheim is less unchanging than ever-static Asgard, Loki is still familiar enough with the layout of the City of Learning to know exactly where to go. Tesseract stored away in his pocket dimension, he casts a quick glamour on himself, light enough not to put too much of a drain on his depleted magic, but strong enough to make sure nobody will recognize him as the fallen prince of Asgard. He cannot afford to do more since he must, at all times, remain strong enough to shield himself not only from the Titan's gaze, but from Heimdall's eyes as well (and doesn't it feel strange to hide from the watcher again after such a long period of desperate, futile hope that Heimdall might still be able to see him).

Once he's safely disguised, Loki has no trouble finding a place to stay for the rest of the night, although he can barely keep his eyes open long enough to ward the door and window of the small room before he collapses on the bed.

His dreams are filled with the blackness of the Void and the hiss of voices whispering in tongues he doesn't understand.

+++

It is bright daylight when Loki wakes groggy and disoriented, with a strange sensation of _wrongness_ niggling at the back of his mind.

It takes him a while to get his bearings and to convince himself that he didn't just dream up the previous day's events – this really, _truly_ is Vanaheim, not Midgard.

Not Sanctuary, either.

Loki takes a deep breath and, like exploring an unfamiliar taste, tries to wrap his mind around the idea that he actually might have gotten away, that he managed to avoid both captivity and death, which he had considered his only choices if he pulled off the near-impossible feat of slipping the Titan's grasp. And now he's here, his body healing, his magic likely to recover quicker than he could have hoped thanks to the power of the Tesseract, yet he can't shake the uneasy feeling of disbelief. The Norns have never favored him with an abundance of luck even in his smallest endeavors, so it seems unlikely they should start now, at a time when the only boon he would still have asked of them was to cut the thread of his life swiftly and cleanly.

Still, here he is – and whether he truly is free or merely living on borrowed time until his fate catches up with him, Loki finds himself determined to make the best of the respite he has been granted.

+++

It has been centuries since Loki had the leisure to spend entire weeks in the library, yet it's surprisingly easy to slip back into the familiar routine of studying. He finds himself a small, comfortable nook in one of the many smaller reading rooms adjacent to the library's main hall, where he can disappear for hours on end behind the stacks of books piled on his desk. It would be tempting to start browsing at random, to chase after every interesting tidbit he comes across, but Loki knows better than to waste the unexpected opportunity that has been dropped into his lap.

Instead, he starts methodically researching every last bit of information he can find on the Mad Titan, sparse as it is (and no matter how much the few things he finds make his skin crawl), then moves on to the Tesseract and the scepter he left behind on Midgard. In this search, he succeeds beyond his wildest expectations, although it also leads him to the conclusion that even his worst fears didn't come near the horrifying reality of what he's dealing with. The first time he realizes just how high the stakes might be in this game the Titan seems to be playing, he has to leave early and spend the evening curled up on his bed with his knees drawn up to his chest, the hum of the Tesseract like a mocking laugh at the back of his mind now that he understands just _what_ he has stored away in his magical pocket.

He doesn't sleep at all that night, but he is still back at his desk at the first light of dawn the next day. If Thanos is truly trying to gather the Infinity Stones, Loki is well aware that he cannot afford to miss even the smallest scrap of knowledge although he finds himself doubting that there will really be anything he can do to stop the Titan.

 _Yet you kept the Space Stone out of his grasp, and you even lost him the Mind Stone_ , he reminds himself, even though the thought fills him with dread rather than pride since he doesn't even want to imagine the price he will pay if he should ever find himself in the Titan's clutches again. He tries not to dwell on it too much, just like he tries to avoid the memory of the scepter's hooks in his brain, of his frantic struggles to keep enough of his mind to himself in order to thwart the invasion that would have provided Thanos with a stepping stone right in the center of the Nine. Whenever he can't keep his thoughts from straying in that direction, he nudges them towards the memory of those hooks snapping, a sensation like being allowed to draw breath after almost being choked to death, glorious enough to almost make him forget that his bones were being smashed to pieces at the same time. _Not a good plan_ , the mouthy little mortal had berated him, never guessing that he was unwittingly granting Loki just the reassurance he was looking for. Loki suppresses the mad urge to giggle when he ponders what Stark and his "Avengers" would say if they knew that he has experienced no greater triumph in his life than the moment he crawled out of the hole in Stark's floor, his mind finally, _finally_ his own again.

Whenever his eyes start burning and his back aches from hours bent over book after book, Loki returns to his small, sparse room and spends his evenings sitting cross-legged on his bed, eyes closed and mind focused to the best of his ability. It takes painstaking, diligent work to rebuild the mental wards that Ebony Maw and the Other had left in tatters even before Thanos placed the scepter into Loki's hand. As the weeks pass, he gets better at drawing from the power of the Tesseract once his own magic tires, and the cube seems content enough with it, since Loki can distantly hear it singing to him when he finally drifts off to sleep.

+++

After many weeks of solitary study, Loki feels confident enough at last to venture out of his private little nook and into the subdued bustle of the main reading halls. His seiðr is all but recovered, allowing him to secure his disguise with a stronger glamour (ginger hair and beard, a freckled complexion and bright blue eyes) as well as garments that are actually transfigured instead of just glamoured so he will be safe brushing against other people in the throng of readers filling the bigger halls. As much as he has needed and enjoyed the time of quiet solitude, he's starting to get restless in his almost-seclusion, and he remembers how the vibrant mix of scholars from all over the Nine used to fascinate him during the studies of his youth. While most of the library's patrons are Vanir, there are numerous visitors from other realms as well, although Loki is quite relieved to find that there are still very few Aesir among their number. At the end of his first day spent in one of the main reading halls, his work accompanied by the comforting murmur of carefully lowered voices, Loki steps out into the balmy evening air and feels like he can breathe again for the first time since the day of Thor's ruined coronation.

Of course, he should have known better than to let himself be lulled into an illusion of safety. The very next day, someone brushes past him in an aisle of the main hall, almost causing Loki to drop the heavy tome he was about to put back on the shelf. A deep, gravelly voice mumbles an apology, but Loki's intended reply freezes in his throat when he turns around and finds himself facing a Frost Giant with an armful of books.

For a moment, his mind goes utterly blank. He knows, of course, that the occasional Jötun will visit the library – it was already so during the days of his youth, when Loki would surreptitiously stare at the fabled monsters from behind a bookshelf or far across the hall, wondering how it was possible that any of those beasts should even be able to read, let alone do serious scholarly work. Now, however...

 _Don't. Go. There_. He brutally reins in his thoughts that want to drift back to that fateful day when his arm turned blue in a giant's grasp, to the Casket's terrifying magic sweeping over him in the Vault, turning his own body into a thing to be hated and despised. Loki focuses on the giant in front of him instead – not much of a giant, in fact, since the creature is merely a good head taller than Loki although it is easily twice as broad. Perhaps this one, too, has been discarded as a useless runt and was therefore taught all those tricks real warriors have no business learning?

Loki clenches his teeth and quickly turns away again before he draws attention to himself. The Frost Giant, seemingly unperturbed, puts one of the books he's carrying back on the shelf right next to Loki and then departs without sparing him a second glance. It takes Loki a while to regain his composure, but finally morbid curiosity outweighs his unease, and he goes to retrieve the Jötun's book to see what such a creature could possibly want to study.

The book looks old, old enough to have been written before the last war between Asgard and Jötunheim. It contains a treatise on ice magic by an author whose name is unfamiliar to Loki, even though he once prided himself on his knowledge of every magical scholar of note throughout the Nine. Torn between indignation and reluctant interest, he takes the book with him to his own desk for further investigation.

He quickly finds out why he has never heard of the author or of the specific brand of magic discussed in the book – the author claims to be a Frost Giant himself, a sorcerer working on exploring the inborn magic that allows the Jötnar to shape ice at will. Such a book would never have been allowed within the sacred halls of Asgard's royal library, and once this thought occurs to him, Loki finds himself reading on out of sheer spite even though there's a part of him that would rather toss the damned thing out of the window.

The text is even mildly interesting, but Loki is still glad of the distraction when two Vanir youths – young enough to be students – meet behind a shelf across from Loki's desk and, sticking their heads together, start whispering excitedly among themselves. They're careful enough to keep their voices down, but Loki still catches a question that makes his heart stop for a moment.

"Is it true they killed King Odin?"

"The Dark Elves? I thought they were all extinct?"

"Hardly, since they're besieging Asgard! I heard the king is grievously wounded, but he's still leading his troops."

"The old man? But why –"

"They say the prince is dead."

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody yell at me, please, the "fix-it" tag is there for a reason... ;-)

_They say the prince is dead._

Loki fills the bowl with water, willing his hands to remain steady. He's aware that he's taking an enormous risk – Frigga is a powerful sorceress, and Odin has all of Asgard's magical energy at his disposal, so the chances that his scrying will go unnoticed are slim at best. He doesn't let it stop him, though; he has to _know_.

The surface of the water ripples and then stills into the image of a dimly-lit chamber. Odin is standing in the middle of the room with his head bowed; he's leaning heavily on Gungnir as if the spear were the only thing to keep him upright. Frigga, dressed in deepest black, is bending over an unmoving figure stretched out on a bed –

No, not a bed. A _bier_.

Loki hasn't been thinking clearly since he heard those students whispering in the library, and he isn't thinking at all now – he just takes a step forward, stepping through the image in front of him and into the place on the other side.

For a heartbeat, it feels like time has come to a halt. Frigga is staring at him with wide eyes; she's paler than he has ever seen her, and although her eyes are dry, he can tell that she has been crying. Odin's expression is frozen in the familiar grim mask, but he looks centuries older than he did when Loki last saw him – a tired old man rather than the image of the all-powerful king in Loki's memory. And Thor…

The person – the _body_ on the bier, dressed in all his red-and-golden splendor, bears no resemblance to the man Loki grew up with, the man he has loved and hated in equal measure for as long as he can remember. This isn't Thor, vibrant, overwhelming, larger-than-life Thor who always seemed to be crackling with the energy of a barely-contained thunderstorm. He looks smaller like this, now that his shining brilliance has been snuffed out, his vibrancy stilled and his fabled strength crushed. A soft glamor, humming with Frigga's magic, is trying to give him an air of dignified peace, but Loki can see the gruesome evidence of Thor's last, lost fight shining through, the gaping wounds left behind by poisonous, enchanted blades against which none of the Allmother's spells could ward her son.

He feels strangely numb as he tries in vain to grasp that this lifeless, broken _thing_ should be the same Thor he fought just a few short months ago, who claimed to have mourned his brother's death even as he prepared to deliver him to his execution, who wore a strand of Loki's hair braided into his own (standing out from his golden mane like a raven's feather in a peacock's plumage) and the sigil of Loki's helm etched into his vambraces. Neither still adorn the corpse, leaving Loki to wonder whether Thor's parents wouldn't let him go on his last journey bearing the mementos of their traitorous Jötun changeling, or whether Thor himself had cast them off because he would commemorate a dead brother, but not a fugitive villain.

Odin finally straightens, assuming an air of command. Loki reaches for the Tesseract's energy so he will be able to get away before the Allfather can pin him in place, but neither of them has time to do anything before Frigga cries, "Loki!" and rushes towards him.

Loki freezes when he finds himself swept up in his mother's embrace. His mind flashes back to that half-forgotten, traitorously blissful moment when she last held him in her arms, right after he had killed his true father in order to prove himself to his false one. He doesn't return her embrace, but he can't bring himself to push her away, either – not when he can feel her shaking against his chest as if she were barely suppressing a sob.

"You dare to show your face here _now_?" Odin's voice is rough with barely-suppressed fury. "Did you think to – "

"Odin!" Frigga cuts him off, letting go of Loki and stepping between him and Odin with her arms stretched out in a gesture that is more command than imploration. "Odin, Loki – peace, I beg of you!"

Odin's brows draw together, but before he can get a word in, Loki blurts out, "What happened?"

"So you're claiming you aren't behind it?" Odin snarls, but Frigga turns back to Loki, disregarding the king utterly.

"The Svartálfar." Her voice trembles, although she valiantly tries to steady it. "Their leader, Malekith, attacked Asgard because he desires the Aether."

 _The Reality Stone_. Loki experiences an uneasy feeling of foreboding. "The Aether is here?"

"It has found a host, the mortal Jane Foster, Thor's –" Frigga falters for a moment, but then presses on. "He brought her here, so we might free her from it, but so far we haven't been able. The Dark Elves attacked the Observatory, and Thor tried to come to Heimdall's aid…" She doesn't go on; it's easy enough for Loki to guess the rest.

"Enough of this…" Odin doesn't get to finish the sentence because the door is flung open, revealing a palace guard who is out of breath and bleeding from a cut in his cheek. "Forgive me, my king, but the Dark Elves – they are in the palace, someone from inside must have let them in because the shield is still intact. We're gathering our forces, but the Elves are heading for the royal quarters, and we haven't been able to stop them yet."

"Is this your doing?" Odin growls in Loki's direction, but he doesn't wait for an answer; he rushes out with the guard in tow, and Loki can hear his shouted orders echoing in the hallway.

"He knows it's not," Frigga hastens to reassure Loki, and for once he's inclined to agree – not because he would put it past the Allfather to consider his false son capable of every sort of treason, but because Odin definitely wouldn't have left Loki alone with the queen if he believed him to be in cahoots with the enemy. _Am I supposed to be touched?_

His cynicism evaporates when he watches a breastplate and sword belt shimmer into existence over Frigga's mourning robes. "What are you doing?" he asks, alarmed. "Mother, don't tell me you're going to fight!"

"They're after the mortal girl, my son – and I promised Thor I would keep her safe. Would you have me break the last promise I ever made to your brother?"

She's already marching out of the room, and Loki has to run after her if he wants to keep convincing her this is madness. He isn't even sure why the idea of Frigga fighting against the intruders terrifies him so utterly. She is a formidable fighter; he has received much of his own single combat training from her since her elegant fighting style suited him better than the crude brutality Thor always excelled at. Now, however, he finds himself utterly, inexplicably convinced that he _must_ not let her join this fight.

"I would be glad to have you fight by my side, my son," Frigga adds calmly, leaving Loki with no other choice than to call his armor and daggers to him and follow her towards the noise of the battle.

The Elves have reached the wide, vaulted gallery that connects the royal living quarters to the rest of the palace. The palace guards are attempting to defend the entrance behind which, Loki assumes, Jane Foster and the Aether are hiding, but they're clearly outnumbered. Odin, to the side with a few of the Einherjar around him, is cutting swathes through the enemies with blasts from his spear, and Frigga draws her sword and makes her way towards him.

For a second, Loki is distracted by the arrival of Lady Sif ahead of another group of guards; when he turns back to follow Frigga, a huge, beastlike creature that all but reeks of the foulest kind of magic appears right behind her. Frigga whips around at Loki's alarmed shout, but he can tell that she will not be able to block a blow from the wicked-looking blade the beast is raising in its massive fist.

Without thinking, he rushes up to the creature, pulling the power of the Tesseract towards him and tearing the fabric of space apart right behind it. It turns its bull-like head, momentarily disoriented by the swirling vortex that has opened up at its back, and before it can react, Loki barrels into it, using his own momentum to shove it into the portal. He would have toppled in right after it if it weren't for the strong hands that grab his arm and pull him back to safety. Loki closes the portal with a wave of his hand; when he turns towards his unexpected rescuer, he finds himself face-to-face with a deathly pale Sif who stares at him as if she were seeing a ghost.

"What – how – where did you send it?"

"Niflheim," Loki pants, "but is this really the time for a chat?"

Sif narrows her eyes at him, but nods briskly and wades back into the melee. Loki looks around for his mother and finds her just a few feet away from her husband; she gives him a grim little smile when their eyes meet. The tide seems to be turning now as more and more Einherjar pour in to defend their king; the floor tiles, slippery with blood, keep vibrating gently with the low hum of the shield generator, reassuring Asgard's fighters that the palace's outer defenses are still intact.

Then Odin roars, "Malekith!", and Loki turns towards the center of the fight, where the Dark Elves are stepping aside to give way to their stony-faced leader. Malekith moves towards Odin with a mad gleam in his eyes and a strange-looking weapon in his hand. He aims it at the Allfather just as Odin raises Gungnir.

The king is a split second too slow.

The blast from Malekith's weapon hits Odin square in the chest and sends him flying, his spear slipping from his grasp and clattering across the tiles in the sudden, horrified hush that falls over Asgard's warriors.

Loki doesn't think, _can't_ think – it's pure instinct that makes him hold out his hand and call Gungnir to him even though the spear is lying on the ground at least twenty paces away. A blood-red haze seems to have descended over everything; he hears the Tesseract's wild song at the back of his mind as Gungnir's shaft smacks into his palm, the magic that merely obeyed him when he first wielded it now rushing through him like a flooding river that tears down everything in its path. The spear needs no conscious decision; it moves with Loki's arm as if it were a part of it, channeling every scrap of power it can reach, Loki's, the Tesseract's, Asgard's, and spewing it at the enemy.

Malekith isn't just torn apart by the blast, he's _vaporized_ into a bloody mist that sprays the expressionless white masks of his surviving soldiers. A cry rises from the Asgardian troops; they throw themselves at the remaining Svartálfar with renewed fury, turning the battle into a massacre now that the Dark Elves seem to have lost their determination after witnessing the death of their leader. Loki finds himself in the thick of the fight, mechanically slashing and blasting his way through the enemies' ranks without fully realizing what he's doing until finally, after a period of time that could have been hours or mere minutes, the gallery goes quiet.

It's only now that Loki notices how exhausted he is. His breath is coming in short gasps, his clothes are sticky with sweat and blood – he couldn't even say whether any of it is his own or not – and his legs feel so rubbery that he has to lean on Gungnir to steady himself. Almost against his will, his eyes follow the looks of every Asgardian warrior who is still standing – towards the spot where Frigga is kneeling with the king's head in her lap, her hands smoothing down his hair and silent tears running over her cheeks.

As if feeling Loki's eyes on her, the queen raises her head to face him – causing everyone else to follow her gaze until they are all staring at Loki, who is standing there frozen to the spot with Gungnir still clutched in his hand.

At long last, it is Sif who breaks the oppressive silence. Sheathing her glaive, she steps forward and kneels down on the blood-slicked floor before Loki. She looks deeply shaken, but her voice is steady when she raises her right fist to her left shoulder in a warrior's salute.

"My king."

It is Loki's turn to stare in utter disbelief, his thoughts swirling in a frantic loop of _This is wrong, this can't be, this isn't what's supposed to happen_ as the Einherjar sink to their knees all around him and echo Sif's salute. He wants to drop the spear, to slash the fabric of space apart and disappear to the most distant corner of the universe, but he can't even bring himself to move a muscle until he feels a gentle touch on his arm.

"My king." Frigga seems calm and composed now, but Loki knows too much of masks not to recognize her poise for what it is. He wants to yell at her that he won't be caught in the same snare twice, that he will not allow her to perpetuate the lie that has poisoned his entire existence, but the words die in his throat as the magnitude of everything that happened in the past few hours finally begins to catch up with him.

Odin is dead. _Thor_ is dead.

The House of Odin is gone.

Everything is _wrong_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you noticed that I've removed the estimated total chapter count – don't worry, I've got the whole story mapped out from start to finish, so I know exactly what's going to happen, it might just take me a bit longer than I first thought to get there. This is my first attempt at writing Loki's POV, and I clearly underestimated just how much he likes to talk ;-)
> 
> Also, I'd like to reassure everyone who's upset about what I did to Thor in the previous chapter that I am absolutely writing a fix-it fic. Like I said to someone in the comments, the sun will shine on them again – and since I'm not related to the Russos, I actually mean it!

The unconscious mortal girl looks tiny and fragile under the shimmering lights of the Soul Forge. Eir is hovering nearby, radiating indignation about having been ordered to step away from her patient, but it's painfully obvious that there's nothing the healers can do to retrieve the Aether from its dying host. Frigga is by Loki's side, still wearing the mask of forced calm; like Loki, she apparently prefers to focus on the most urgent task so she'll be able to put off facing everything else for a little while longer.

Loki keeps his eyes half-closed and listens to the Tesseract's song in his mind. There's a strange new harmony that must be a response to the Aether's closeness – two Infinity Stones recognizing each other, just as every book Loki has read on the subject warned him they would. It is one of the most basic lessons every student of magic is taught that like will call to like, and while that means one can never use the power of one Stone against another, it also gives Loki hope that the Tesseract's call might be enough to bring the Aether out of its current vessel in order to be closer to its – sibling?

He cuts off that line of thought before it takes him further down a path he can't afford to tread. His focus needs to be on the here and now, on the growing eagerness he senses in the Aether. He has to be cautious unless he wants to end up as another unwilling host, but unlike mortal, magic-less Jane Foster, Loki has his seiðr to serve both as a shield against and as a conduit for the Aether's power once he can call it to him. He is not strong enough to force it out of the girl (he doubts anyone in the entire universe would be), but he can try to lure it to him with the prospect of being reunited with the Tesseract.

"Lady Eir, shut off the Forge."

Eir hesitates. "My king..."

"You heard me."

For a split second, it looks like she's going to refuse, but then she lowers her eyes and dismisses the force field, opening up the path between the Infinity Stone inside Jane Foster and the other one in Loki's magical hold. Loki braces himself – this is the crucial moment, and he cannot afford the slightest mistake now.

There – he feels the first tendril of power even before it manifests as a coil of red, smoke-like mist that drifts in his direction as if it were reaching out towards him. Loki grips Gungnir tighter and, using the spear as a focus to center himself, gently nudges the Tesseract to answer the call. The mist drifts closer, solidifying into something that looks like a mass of glittering chips of ruby; Loki holds out his free hand, palm up, and slowly, carefully pulls it towards him.

The iridescent mass swirls over his palm and hovers there for a moment before it begins to condense. It seems to struggle, twisting and changing in ways that make Loki's eyes water, but even though he can feel sweat trickling down his forehead, he manages to keep his arm and his magical shields steady until finally, the Aether stops fighting and coalesces into a shining red gemstone in Loki's hand.

"You may tend to your patient now, Lady Eir." Loki's voice sounds strange in his own ears, but if Eir notices, she doesn't give any indication and focuses on the mortal girl instead. Frigga takes a deep, shuddering breath, finally allowing a little of her nervousness to show.

"You freed her from the Aether."

Loki nods, his eyes never leaving the blood-red gem. "It seems I did."

"What are you going to do with it?"

Loki hesitates. Given the Titan's quest to collect all the Infinity Stones, the wisest course would be to keep them as far apart from each other as possible – scatter them across the entire universe, hide them in places so remote not even Thanos will find them. Yet, the idea causes a strange feeling of unease in the pit of his stomach, a sense of foreboding not unlike the one that made him follow Frigga into battle earlier today. He can't explain it – he doesn't share Frigga's prophetic gift (and has never regretted it given that it hardly ever seems to be of actual use), and he isn't usually one to act on pure instinct (that was always Thor's way, not his, but – _no, don't go there_ ), but now he finds that he's unwilling to dismiss the feeling that tells him he needs to keep both gems close.

The Tesseract lets out a hum that almost sounds pleased when Loki slips the Aether into his pocket dimension with a twist of his palm. The Reality Stone seems less eager, but at least it doesn't resist being stored away; Loki figures that will have to be enough for now.

"I'm going to keep it safe."

"Then..." Frigga is clearly weighing her words very carefully now, "...wouldn't it be best to place it in the Vault?"

Loki scoffs. "We both know better than to think the Vault is truly safe, do we not?"

Frigga's brows draw together, but she doesn't relent. "We could tighten security, place more guards at the gate, create another magical guardian..."

Loki can't help it that his answer comes out sounding tense. "You hailed me as your king not an hour ago, Allmother, and already you distrust me?"

"That's not what I meant, my son." Frigga places her hand on his arm, her tone gentle. "I merely meant to say that you need not shoulder this burden alone when there is already so much you will have to bear from now on."

Loki looks into her eyes, the only part of her that can never fully hide behind any mask she's wearing. "Did you mean it when you handed me the throne, Mother? After everything that has happened, is it truly your wish to have _me_ rule in Asgard?"

Frigga holds his gaze without flinching. "It is."

A part of him wants to believe her; wants to take refuge in her arms, let her hold him close and tell him the same pleasant lies she used to keep the ugliness of reality away when he was a child – but if the past years have taught him anything, it's that those times are gone forever, that he will never again be able to trust anyone the way he trusted her back then.

He shakes his head and allows a hint of steel to slip into his tone. "Then I'm afraid you must accept that it is for _me_ to decide what is best for her."

He doesn't miss the flash of hurt in Frigga's eyes, even though it's gone in an instant as she inclines her head and takes a step back. He turns away without acknowledging the gesture that feels too much like mockery, for she knows full well that in spite of her show of deference, she has now pulled the snare tight, has gotten him to put shackles around his own wrists and tie himself to a throne he has never wanted less than in this very moment.

"Lady Eir, I want the mortal returned to Midgard as soon as she wakes."

Eir bows. "It will be done, my king. Would you have me remove her memories of her time here first? The Allmother suggested that it might be kinder, given that she and Prince Thor –"

Loki cuts her off with a gesture before she can finish the sentence. "You will do as I said, nothing more." _Hooks sinking into his mind like steel claws, tearing holes into his memories, ripping his sense of self to shreds, the Other's paws rifling through his innermost thoughts –_

Eir retreats with another, decidedly frostier bow, and Loki isn't surprised in the slightest when Frigga approaches him again as soon as the Healer is out of earshot.

"My son..."

Loki sighs. "Save your breath, Mother, I'm not going to change my mind."

"Would you not at least speak with her before you send her back to Midgard?"

Loki raises an eyebrow at her. "I doubt it would improve our relationship with Midgard if she returned bearing the news that I now sit on Asgard's throne." Frigga flinches, the first real emotion she has shown since she called him king, and Loki can't help the impulse to keep pushing now they're finally giving up on the charade. "Speaking of Midgard – since I would have been for the block or the dungeons if I had returned a week earlier, have you considered how the good people of Asgard will react to the fact that I am now to rule them?"

Frigga doesn't take the bait; it was always far more difficult to get a rise out of her than of Odin. "You will find that the good people of Asgard care very little about Midgard, or about anything her prince might get up to as long as it doesn't concern the Realm Eternal. Odin" – and now the mask is back – "would not have tolerated your actions against Midgard, but very few others care about your attack on an insignificant realm, if they even took note of it."

"Really." Loki knows he should leave it there, but he can't bring himself to walk away now that Frigga is willing to speak more than platitudes at last. "And what about my attack on Jötunheim?"

She pales, and Loki experiences a brief flash of guilt, but it is quickly snuffed out by the memory of his arm turning blue in the giant's grip. Frigga seems reluctant to answer, and when she finally does, her voice is rough. "Nobody would have dared to tell Odin or Thor to their faces, but many whisper that it is a shame you were stopped."

Loki has no idea what to say to that, so he covers his unease with a sneer. "I take it that the fact I showed a bunch of Frost Giants the way into Asgard isn't public knowledge?"

The Allmother sighs. "The people were told that you set a clever trap for Laufey and slew him when he tried to murder the king. Thor told everyone that you directed the Bifröst against Jötunheim because you were beside yourself with fury about their attempt on your father's life, and that your fall into the abyss was a terrible accident for which he would never stop blaming himself."

When Loki's only reply is stunned silence, she continues, as if she were trying to get it all out at once in case she might never again get the chance to say what she's about to tell him. "Loki, my precious son, we were grieving for you because we thought you dead – do you really think any of us would have allowed anything to besmirch your memory? Do you really think we would have told anyone –"

"– that I sent the Destroyer after Thor to keep him on Midgard? That I told him Odin was dead and you had forbidden his return?" Frigga's eyes widen at that, and Loki is hit by the realization that she hadn't known, that Thor apparently never told her in order not to taint the shining memory of his dear lost brother... the same brother he was willing to drag back home chained and muzzled once he turned out not to be entirely lost after all. "That I killed my father when I slew Laufey?" He's fully aware that he's being needlessly cruel, but right now he can't bring himself to care. "Should we tell them _the truth_ , Mother, and see if they will still suffer me on Odin's golden throne?"

Frigga holds up a trembling hand as if begging him to stop, and Loki's anger collapses like the logs of a burnt-down pyre, leaving only embers and ashes behind. The last rays of the setting sun are still painting the windows golden, but this day seems to have lasted a hundred hours already, and he's only now beginning to realize how weary he is.

"So I would have been buried alive if Thor had managed to bring me back from Midgard? I doubt Odin would have wanted to embarrass himself by admitting just how thick a web of lies he had spun, but there would have been no way around it if he had sent me to the block."

"Neither Thor nor I would ever have allowed it." Frigga seems to have recovered a little, even though she's still white as a sheet. "If you will not believe anything else I say, Loki, you _must_ believe that."

It isn't lost on Loki that she doesn't try to refute his assumptions regarding Odin. He isn't convinced at all that she's right as far as Thor is concerned, but even he isn't cruel enough to tell her _that_. He gives her a curt nod and gets a watery smile in reply; he supposes it's the best they will be able to manage at this point.

"So this is what you would have me do, Mother? Rule Asgard shrouded in lies?"

Frigga attempts another smile. "You used to take pride in being known as the God of Lies."

Loki shrugs; he isn't going to tell her that he has always hated the moniker even if he knew better than to admit it. "I prefer them to be my own lies." With that, he pushes the matter aside; there's still too much to do to waste time on things that can't be changed.

"So, who knows the truth? Thor's merry bunch of warriors?" They fought the Destroyer he had sent after Thor, and they most likely know as well (although clearly none of them told Frigga) that Loki lied to Thor about Odin's death. And yet, Sif was the first to hail him as Asgard's new king – was she hoping to make him forget that, no matter how justified her suspicions might have been, her actions during his brief, disastrous regency made her a traitor?

Frigga shakes her head. "Not about anything that happened after Thor's return, and they definitely do not know about... the circumstances of your birth."

The way she keeps tiptoeing around the issue makes Loki's hackles rise again. "Can we speak plainly for once, Mother? Who in Asgard knows that I'm not Odin's son?"

Her shoulders tighten, and her tone is curt and businesslike when she replies, "Only Heimdall and Eir, and they're both sworn to silence."

"Oaths can be broken."

"True, but the geas I put on them cannot." Frigga's smile is thin, but it still makes something in Loki's chest loosen a little. "You are not the only one who knows that the straight path isn't always the safest, my son."

Loki forces himself to smile back; it probably comes out strained, but it's as much of a peace offering as he can bring himself to extend. "Then, Mother, let us walk the twisting path and see where it takes us. I must leave you now; I'm told the remaining Svartálfar have fled, but I still would rather send a few ships after them to make sure they do not return."

Frigga nods solemnly. "That seems wise, my king."

+++

It is past midnight when Loki finally gets to retire to his chambers. It's only when he finds himself at the familiar door that he realizes his feet have taken him to his old quarters out of sheer habit, but considering the alternatives, he decides he prefers to spend the night here, even if stepping back into this remnant of a life that's irrevocably past feels a little like entering a mausoleum. The rooms are exactly like he left them, neither a cobweb nor a speck of dust in sight; even the bed linens smell fresh, although Loki is so tired that he would happily lie down on a heap of rotten straw as long as it meant he would finally get to sleep. He dismisses the servants who seem glad enough to leave him alone, vanishes his clothes and collapses on the bed.

Sanctuary forced him to learn how to shut off all thoughts and fall asleep immediately whenever he got the chance, since he never knew how long it would be until he would next be allowed to rest. He hasn't needed to fall back on the technique ever since he escaped from Midgard, but now he is glad to still have it at his disposal, given the day that lies behind him.

The Aether hasn't entirely settled down inside Loki's pocket universe, but he knows better than to deal with an object of such power in his current state of exhaustion. The Tesseract seems content in the company of another Infinity Stone, so he feels safe enough to leave things as they are for the time being.

He pulls the blanket over himself, extinguishes the lights with a wave of his hand, and is asleep in a matter of seconds.

A few hours later, Loki wakes with a choked cry from the searing pain of a blade being run through his chest.


	4. Chapter 4

_Keep quiet, keep quiet, you know it gets worse if you scream, don't make a sound no matter how much it hurts –_

It takes several agonizing seconds for Loki to wake fully and become aware of his surroundings, painted in soft shades of grey by the pale light of early dawn. This isn't Sanctuary – he's alone in his bed in Asgard, Thanos and his children are worlds away, and the pain in his chest has faded from a white-hot burn to a dull throb that becomes a little more bearable with every beat of his heart… a heart that seems miraculously undamaged even though he felt the blade go right through him.

_They know only too well how much he can survive, know exactly how to make him bleed without ever allowing him to slip away into the beckoning darkness…_

Loki looks around the room and finds it empty; whoever stabbed him has disappeared together with their weapon. He takes a few deep breaths – there's no blood coming up, his lungs appear whole as well – and forces himself to lower his hands, which he had reflexively pressed over the center of the pain in his chest. First things first; before he can do anything about his attacker, he needs to see how serious the injury is.

His hands are dry; the bed linens, which he expected to find drenched in blood, are pristine white without a speck of red on them. The throbbing sensation in the middle of his chest is still there, but there's no damage, not even a scratch, nothing – just smooth, unblemished skin where he was certain to find a gaping wound.

Loki slowly sits up in bed and shakes his head as if that could clear away his bewilderment. Did he just dream the whole thing? He is well used to vivid nightmares, but they have rarely ever felt _this_ real, and his mind also doesn't usually bother with imaginary terrors when there's such an overabundance of terrifying memories for it to choose from.

At long last, he decides that it must have been a dream even though the phantom pain in his chest still hasn't fully faded. Slumping back into his pillows, Loki allows himself to briefly close his eyes again as he struggles to calm his racing heartbeat. He doesn't have time for this – not when he still has no idea how he is going to face the day ahead of him, a day filled with demands and duties and the ever-present, underlying feeling that everything is wrong and he has been shoved into a place where he doesn't belong.

Things will be difficult enough as they are; he _really_ doesn't need his mind playing tricks on him on top of everything else.

+++

Loki expects to find Frigga where he left her last night, but the room where the Allfather and the Crown Prince are lying in state is empty but for the unmoving, statue-like figures of the Einherjar honor guard. Loki spent no more than a scant half hour here yesterday, the barest minimum required in order not to appear irreverent; by custom, the new king should have spent the entire night at his predecessor's wake, but given that they were dealing with the chaotic aftermath of a crippling attack, Loki could believably claim that there were demands of greater importance on his time. He clenches his teeth as he turns on his heel and walks out without another glance at Odin's gold-clad body on the black-draped catafalque; he'll do what he must, but he draws the line at playing the grieving son.

He does his best not to ponder the question whether he would have been willing to keep watch by Thor's side.

Loki finds Frigga alone at her loom, although she isn't weaving, merely frowning at the unfinished tapestry. She turns to face him when he enters, and even though she attempts a smile, he can tell she's still troubled.

"Is something wrong, Mother?" _Besides everything?_

Frigga shakes her head. "It's nothing, I just – these patterns didn't quite turn out the way I expected them to. Never mind that, though," she adds quickly before he can get another word in, "it is of little importance right now. Are you ready, my son?"

Loki is quite grateful that she has decided to drop the 'my king' charade, although he knows it will reappear as soon as they are no longer alone. "I will have to be, won't I?"

Frigga's frown returns, but this time it's focused on him. "Loki, are you well? You're paler than I've ever seen you."

Loki shrugs; the pain in his chest still hasn't fully faded, but he's hardly going to complain about nightmares as if he were a child afraid of the monsters under his bed. "Would blue be more to your liking, Allmother?"

Her expression shutters, but at least she doesn't ask another question, which is exactly what the barb was supposed to achieve. He doesn't enjoy hurting her, but he cannot allow her to get through the armor he's been building around himself ever since he first saw Thor's body on the bier.

 _Focus on the here and now, on the demands of the moment, don't allow yourself to think about anything else_. He survived Sanctuary that way; he can only hope it will get him through this day as well.

+++

The dark, roiling storm clouds overhead swallow up the light of the late morning sun and make it seem as if the sky itself were paying one last tribute to the God of Thunder. The shore is black with people; half of Asgard must be gathered here to pay their respects to their fallen king and prince. Loki, surrounded by the royal guard, is standing at the center, with Frigga by his side. His eyes and everyone else's are on the funeral barge that carries Odin and Thor on their last journey, towards the ocean-rim's ever-falling waters where the Void would be waiting for them if Asgard ever allowed her honored dead to be devoured by the gaping nothingness that surrounds the Golden Realm.

Loki is wearing his full regalia, the horns of his helm towering over the crowd and Gungnir in his hand; the wind is whipping at his cloak – dark green instead of the traditional deep, dark red of royal mourning, he needed to keep at least a small part of himself – and drowning out the low, somber funeral chants. The torchbearers are struggling to keep their fires burning in the rising gale, and the archer awaiting Loki's signal is starting to look concerned – not even the world's finest bowman could hope to hit his mark in such a storm, let alone with a burning arrow.

Frigga doesn't turn towards Loki, but her hand brushes his for a second. "My son –"

"I know." With a shake of his head, Loki signals the archer to stand down. Instead, he raises his arm, palm up, and slowly curls his fingers around the shimmer of seiðr gathering in his hand; then he flings it towards the barge.

Green flames shoot up, engulfing the ship and the two gold-bedecked bodies it carries towards the world's edge. Loki allows it to travel a little further; then he raises Gungnir and brings it down hard. With a sound like a distant thunderclap, the barge dissolves into a million sparks that briefly light up the blackness of the Void before they disperse into the eternal darkness.

A hush falls over the crowd; even the wind dies down for a few seconds, as if Asgard's elements were aware of the gravity of the moment. Then the gale picks up again, breaking the silence; now that the ceremony is over, people begin to gather in small groups and whisper among themselves. Loki feels a hundred eyes on him, and the sensation makes his skin crawl.

_Are you beginning to realize what you're left with now, good people of Asgard?_

He hears Frigga draw a shaky breath next to him, but when he can finally bring himself to turn towards her, she has already schooled her expression into the same mask of somber composure he has been wearing since he left her chambers this morning. "I would ask a boon of you, my king."

Loki still wants to cringe whenever she addresses him like that, but it's a luxury he can't afford in public. He merely gives her a nod, not quite trusting his voice, but she doesn't speak right away. Instead, she gestures towards one of the members of the royal guard who approaches them holding the reins of a huge, black, _eight-legged_ horse.

Loki's breath catches in his throat. He hasn't seen Sleipnir since that ill-fated day in Jötunheim, since –

"He was yours before he was anyone else's," Frigga says softly. "You created him to be worthy of a king, so it is only fitting he should be yours again now."

Loki presses his lips together. It is true, the stallion was his finest magical creation, all those centuries ago when he was still young and foolish enough to believe he would one day be able to please Odin if he only tried hard enough. He all but lived in the stables from the moment the mare was in foal until Sleipnir's birth, weaving spells and enchantments around the unborn colt in order to make him grow into a steed worthy of the greatest of kings.

And oh, how proud he had been when Odin accepted his gift – at least for a little while, until the whispers started. He never found out who had first come up with the rumor that the second prince, known shapeshifter and magic-wielder, had actually birthed Sleipnir in the shape of a mare, that he had tricked the Allfather into riding his own grandson into battle. He still remembers the snickers that followed him for decades, the feeling of utter humiliation he could never show because Odin dismissed the rumors as witless gossip and Thor found them hilarious. Has Frigga forgotten? Or did she truly not see it, back then when he felt like the laughingstock of the entire realm?

Still, he can't help running his hand over Sleipnir's glossy black mane; the stallion lowers his head and gently presses his nose into Loki's palm like he used to when he was still a long-legged colt begging for treats.

Loki tries to take a deep breath and finds that he can't, that something sharp and bright is threatening to pierce through the fog of comfortable numbness which separates him from a reality he isn't ready to face. _Not now, I can't, I can't –_

"My king, if I may…" If Frigga is aware that she is pulling Loki back from the brink, she doesn't show it. "I would ask that you accompany me to the Observatory before we return to the palace."

Glad as Loki is of the distraction, the request is still as unwelcome as it is puzzling. He knows that both the Rainbow Bridge and the Observatory have been rebuilt, but he doesn't feel the slightest wish to ever set foot there again. "The Observatory, Allmother? Why would you have me go there?"

_The Bridge shattering into glittering shards under Mjölnir's strikes, the flaming wreckage of the Observatory disappearing into the blackness of the Void right underneath him –_

"Please, my son," she replies so softly that only Loki can hear her, and even though he wishes she would just once give him a straight answer, he can't bring himself to deny her such a small request on the day she had to bury her husband and her son.

+++

They cannot go alone, of course; it seems to Loki that the entire funeral train is following them across the Rainbow Bridge. Loki keeps his eyes ahead, carefully not looking down into the swirling darkness underneath; even Sleipnir seems restless, although Loki couldn't say whether the stallion is uncomfortable with the abyss under his hooves or with the fact that he has to carry his caretaker of old when no-one but Odin has ever ridden Sleipnir before.

Frigga takes Loki's arm when they dismount on the platform outside the Observatory. A gaggle of courtiers follow them inside, where a dozen Einherjar under Sif's command are keeping watch since Heimdall, grievously wounded in the first wave of Malekith's attack, is still under Lady Eir's care in the infirmary.

Crowded as the room now is, there's still a free space by the central pedestal that bears the marks of the Svartálfar's energy weapons. Loki steps forward, and then almost wants to laugh when he realizes how elegantly he has just been played.

Mjölnir is half-buried in the cracked floor, the leather strapping of her handle singed and her bright metal looking duller than in Loki's memory, now that her owner has left her behind. _This is where Thor died_ , Loki reminds himself, _and where it will once again be proven that you can never take his place._

He tries to ignore the eyes on him and faces Frigga instead; she still seems calm, but there's something in her gaze he can't decipher. He wonders if she means to test him – as if there ever was a snowflake's chance in Muspelheim he would be deemed 'worthy' in Odin's eyes, whether the Allfather was alive to see it or not.

All of a sudden, Loki finds that he has had enough. For what feels like the longest day of his existence, he has endured the unsettling sensation of having stepped into someone else's life, has played the part that was expected of him, but now he's ready to tear off the mask and be _done_.

_You want to make a public spectacle of me, Allmother? Let me indulge you._

The air grows heavy with silent, breathless expectation as Loki steps up to the hammer. He's about to reach for the handle when something catches his eye – the pearly shimmer of fading seiðr, weak enough to be easily overlooked even by a sorcerer, invisible to anyone else. Eyes narrowing, Loki takes a closer look and nearly laughs again when he recognizes the remnants of a broken enchantment, meant to bind an object to the caster's will – to _Odin's_ will, for that's what this spell is: no impartial measurement of worth, no unerring determination of value, just a simple command for the hammer not to be wielded by anyone Odin did not wish to wield it.

_You didn't even bother to ensure that the enchantment would outlast your death, Allfather? Were you truly arrogant enough to believe it would never become an issue? Or were you sure no one who wasn't Thor would even dare to try once you were gone?_

He's torn between fury and a bitter kind of hilarity when he looks around at the faces observing his every move like a pack of wolves waiting for the wounded bear to give them an opening. Here they are, warriors and noblemen and courtiers, none of them ever his friends, all of them eagerly awaiting his embarrassing failure when the truth is that any one of them could have picked up the hammer once Odin was dead.

_Well played, Allmother; it seems I owe you an apology for underestimating your puppeteering skills._

He raises an eyebrow at Frigga and gets a smile in return, small and sharp like a lady's dagger; then he grabs Mjölnir's handle and lifts her.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last line of Loki's oath is from Lise's [Remember This Cold](https://archiveofourown.org/series/28656) universe and used with the author's permission.

There have been more times than Loki cares to admit when he imagined standing in front of the crowd with Mjölnir in his hand – but now that it's actually happening, that the courtiers are falling to their knees around him just like the Einherjar did at the end of the battle against the Svartálfar, all he wants is to disappear. Under any other circumstances, the dumbstruck, wide-eyed stares he's getting would have filled him with vicious glee, given that the people who are staring now have been looking down their noses at him or whispering behind his back about the disappointment that was the second prince for as long as he can remember. As it is, though, he finds the whole charade tiring.

Ever since he first learned to walk the hidden paths, he was so often admonished not to "flaunt" his skywalking abilities that he all but stopped using his skills in Asgard, but now he's sorely tempted to just disappear with their precious hammer and let them wonder where he took it. The Tesseract reacts to the idea with a soft pulse that feels almost eager, but it's not like Loki needs it in order to skywalk in a place he knows like the back of his hand – he has been able to do it since the late years of his childhood, after all.

He looks around at the kneeling courtiers and, letting the hammer dangle from his fingers as if he had all but forgotten he's still holding it, turns to Frigga with a flippant, "I'll just take this to the Vault then, shall I?"

"My king." Frigga steps closer; when she continues, her voice is low enough to ensure that only Loki can hear her. "The people of Asgard are grief-stricken and uncertain; they need to _see_ in order to be reassured."

Loki bites his lower lip; he knows she's right, but still… "Did you know?" He can see from her reaction that he doesn't need to explain what he means, and he realizes that he has no idea what he'll do if it turns out she was _aware_ of the entire farce of "worth" that could only ever mean Thor and never Loki –

"No – I saw." He no longer has reason to take the Allmother's word at face value, but the thinly veiled anger in her tone does more to convince him of her honesty than any protestation could. "Last night, when I projected myself here to talk to Lady Sif."

Frigga lacks Loki's ability to walk the hidden paths, but he knows that she's extremely adept at projection; it's not out of the question that she would be able to spot and recognize the remnants of Odin's broken spell even through the eyes of a magical duplicate.

When he lowers his head, it's as much a reassurance as it is an admittance of defeat. "Very well then – if the people of Asgard need a spectacle in order to be able to sleep at night, we'd better give them one."

+++

They do not take the straight route back to the palace; instead, the royal procession makes its way through the winding streets of the city, where so many people are gathered outside their houses and workshops that the Einherjar at the front have trouble clearing a path for the members of the court.

Frigga, who rode beside Loki on the Rainbow Bridge, falls back a little as soon as they reach the city. Loki rides on alone, Gungnir in one hand, Mjölnir in the other; on Sleipnir's back, he's towering over the people lining the streets, which allows him to look straight over their heads so he won't see their faces.

The murmur of the crowd he can hear from afar dies down as soon as he approaches; there are no cheers, but in the eerie silence, people are bending their knees and lowering their heads as he passes them by. The whispers start again behind him, of course, but Loki does his best to ignore them; he's well aware that an outward pretense of respect is the best he can hope for.

It seems only fitting that Asgard's people should be as uncomfortable with their new king as Loki is with them.

Yet he plays his part; a silent, stone-faced ruler may not be what Asgard wants to see, but considering that everyone believes he just buried his father and brother, Loki hopes that the show he's giving them might just suffice for the time being.

Once they reach the palace, Loki leads his whole entourage to the Vault and makes a big production out of placing Mjölnir on the empty pedestal that used to hold the Casket of Ancient Winters. He almost slips up and does a double-take when he notices that the Casket is back in the Vault, too, albeit tucked away in a corner and half-hidden under a shimmering dome of spellcraft that vibrates with the gentle touch of Frigga's magic. Loki had assumed the Casket had been lost in the Void with him, and coming across it again _now_ is more than a little unsettling.

_Blue creeping up from his hands holding the Casket, stripping away the illusions of a lifetime and exposing the monster underneath –_

Loki forces himself to push the memory away. Even if he wanted to ponder the matter, which he definitely doesn't, there's no time – not when there's a throne room full of people awaiting the next part of today's performance. Asgard may not welcome him as her king, but that doesn't change the old custom that the sun must not be allowed to rise between a king's funeral and the coronation of his successor.

 _Norns forbid that we fail to observe the ancient customs while we're putting a Frost Giant on Asgard's throne_ , Loki thinks with bitter irony as he strides towards the throne room, surrounded by an honor guard of Einherjar. _This, Odin Allfather, is probably not what you envisioned when you insisted that I, too, had been born to be king._

+++

"Odin Borson, King of Asgard, I bid you take your place in the halls of Valhalla, where the brave shall live forever."

Loki focuses on making his voice carry to the far ends of the packed throne room that is decked in somber black and green; it's far easier to concentrate on the quality of his recital than on the words he's speaking. He's standing on the steps leading up to the throne with Gungnir in his hand, facing the crowd without seeing them; he isn't sure he will be able to get through this if he actually looks at anyone.

"Thor Odinson, Prince of Asgard, I bid you take your place in the halls of Valhalla, where the brave shall live forever."

_This is wrong, everything is wrong, things were never supposed to happen like this –_

"Nor shall we mourn, but rejoice for those who have died a glorious death."

"Nor shall we mourn, but rejoice for those who have died a glorious death!" The crowd's response sounds downright eager; to Loki, it seems like the people are throwing themselves headfirst into the celebration of a fantasy so they won't have to face the ugly, utterly prosaic reality.

 _There's no glory in death_ ; _I have seen death's face, and there's nothing glorious about it._

He knocks the butt end of the spear against the marble floor, the metallic clang cutting off his own dark thoughts and signaling the official end of the funeral ceremony. An expectant hush falls over the onlookers; now that the dead have been given their due, the survivors want to be reassured that life will go on, that the Realm Eternal will endure just like the sacred line of Asgard's kings.

Loki isn't sure whether he wants to laugh or scream at the thought.

He can feel a thousand eyes on his back as he climbs up the steps to the golden seat of Hliðskjálf. This time, everyone gets to witness his accession; there will be no more whispers of usurpation, of the envious younger brother stealing the real heir's place – he will be Asgard's king, not just her regent until a better alternative presents itself, even if he feels more out of place than he did during those frantic days when he first sat on the throne.

Steeling himself, Loki turns to face the crowd again. He notices many furtive glances in Frigga's direction, but the Allmother remains standing where she is, on the dais halfway up the steps to the right of the throne, her expression serene and her eyes on Loki.

He's aware that everyone expects the queen dowager to take the new king's oath, but Frigga wouldn't hear of it when they discussed the ceremony last night. "The throne is yours in your own right, my son," she said, cutting off his objections before he could utter them, "I will not have anyone think that you need me to give it to you."

_Or maybe, Allmother, you merely remember how things turned out when you did give me the throne? I cannot blame you for not wanting to be seen making the same mistake twice._

He can hear the Tesseract's soft hum like a siren song at the back of his mind, whispering to him that he could still slip away if he chose, that he need not shackle himself to the Realm of Golden Lies – but there's a dissonance in the gentle harmony, as if the slow, deep pulse of Asgard's own magic were interfering to remind him that this is the one place he will never truly escape.

Nothing for it now.

Tightening his grip on Gungnir, Loki allows his seiðr to manifest in a shimmer of green that spreads from his hand to the spear as he speaks the binding words of the oath.

"I, Loki, King of Asgard, swear to guard the Nine Realms."

He's sure that not a single person in the crowd missed the fact that he left out his patronymic, but he can't bring himself to care. Let them wonder – it's hardly a secret that he and Odin were never on the best of terms. _No, Loki…_

He doesn't look at Frigga; she of all people should understand that one cannot swear a magical oath under a false name.

"I swear to preserve the peace, to cast aside all selfish ambition…"

_Know your place, brother!_

"…and I pledge myself only to the good of all the Realms."

_The Bifröst ripping into Jötunheim, Midgard's skies black with swarming Chitauri –_

_Are you laughing in the halls of Valhalla, Allfather? Only how weren't you laughing back then, when you heard your golden son speak those words after he'd promised your Jötun foundling to slay all of his monstrous kind?_

"I swear by Yggdrasil itself, and may the world end ere I be forsworn."

There's a moment of complete silence; then a dutiful cheer rises up as Loki sits down on the throne. It sounds thin and forced to him, and he's secretly relieved when a blast from the ceremonial horn cuts through the half-hearted acclamation and silences the crowd.

Another hush falls, this time filled with anticipation; everyone expects him to give a speech. He has always been famous for his skill with words, after all, so people are probably eager to hear what Loki Silvertongue has to say on the day of his greatest triumph.

Loki doesn't speak. He wasn't planning on it anyway, but right now he isn't sure he could get another word out even if he wanted to.

Just as the silence is getting uncomfortable, Frigga steps forward. "My king, Asgard has heard your oath; I ask you now to hear Asgard's oaths of fealty in return."

+++

Under different circumstances, Loki is sure he would find the whole ritual hilariously funny. He keeps his expression dispassionate as he watches the endless parade of courtiers, nobles and warriors who bend their knees in front of the throne and swear their allegiance to him with varying degrees of reluctance, unease or badly veiled resentment. Few of them stand out enough to get more than a nod from him in reply, although most of those he acknowledges seem rather uncomfortable with his attention. Volstagg and Fandral do their best to avoid looking at him when they kneel before him; Loki merely raises an eyebrow at them, which results in a blush from Fandral and an abashed half-smile from Volstagg. Loki supposes they both find themselves envious of Hogun, who returned to his native Vanaheim right after the defeat of the Dark Elves, and of Sif, who is still on guard duty at the Observatory.

The Warriors Two hastily scramble to their feet once they've spoken their oaths. Loki blinks, and then freezes when he suddenly sees Thor standing beside them, whole and unscathed, Mjölnir in his hand and a sad smile on his face. _Is that not legacy enough_ , Thor's voice asks in Loki's mind, as clearly as if his brother ( _not his brother, never his brother_ ) were truly standing before him – as if Thor would ever just stand there if he saw Loki sitting on Hliðskjálf.

_A throne would suit you ill, brother._

Loki closes his eyes and opens them again, and just like that, the vision is gone. There's a low, jarring sound like a dissonant chord at the back of his mind, but when he tries to focus on it, it fades away.

He shakes his head and tries to dismiss the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

+++

If the ceremony in the throne room was tiring, the ensuing feast is doubly so. The Aesir will jump at every chance to celebrate regardless of the occasion, and the coronation of a new king is as good an excuse as any, no matter how they may feel about the king himself. Loki sits in the high seat with Frigga by his side; she does her best to get him to eat, but the food tastes like ashes in his mouth, and he can barely force down a few bites.

The crowd's earlier discomfort is slowly dissolving in the free-flowing mead; the toasts are getting louder and more boisterous – if not, Loki thinks, wittier – as the evening wears on, and to his surprise, a few guests even start raising their goblets in Loki's honor after numerous tributes to Odin's and Thor's memory.

Drunk as almost all of them are, they still take their cues from Loki's oath; not a single toast refers to him as "Loki Odinson", leaving Loki to wonder whether they're trying to humor him or to remind him that few in Asgard ever considered him worthy of the name to begin with. "Odinson" will always mean Thor to them, and Loki is content to leave it at that – after centuries of trying in vain to live up to his presumed legacy, letting go of it almost comes as a relief.

_No, Loki._

He also finds himself grateful that everyone has the good sense not to address him as "Allfather".

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Loki is in a spectacularly foul mood when he sits down on the throne again the next morning. He barely got any rest last night – even when he'd finally gotten away from the coronation feast, he hadn't been able to fall asleep in his unfamiliar new chambers (some former royal guest quarters, hastily refurbished after he had flat-out refused to move into Odin's rooms) until the early hours of the morning, and the few hours of sleep he managed to get were fitful and uneasy thanks to the restlessness of the Reality Stone in his dimensional pocket. When he woke, it was to the phantom pain of a nonexistent stab wound in his chest, unreal yet realistic enough that he half expected to find a vicious scar bisecting his breastbone when he got dressed (alone, even though he had to chase away a dozen servants first – court ceremonial or not, he doubts he will ever be comfortable again with the feeling of a stranger's hands on him).

He found himself beleaguered by courtiers and council members as soon as he left his quarters, and they've been dogging his steps all the way to the throne room. They do back off when he dismisses them with an impatient wave of his hand, but they stay on the sidelines, ready to start vying for his attention again as soon as he gives them the chance.

Loki pays them no heed; the sleepless hours last night have at least given him some time to ponder his next moves, and he's determined to see his own plans through first before he listens to anyone else's demands. For the same reason, he studiously ignores the two black shadows at his back; Odin's ravens are perched on the throne's backrest like ominous, disapproving specters, and even though Loki knows that he will have to deal with them sooner or later, they can damn well wait their turn.

He's certain that everyone expects him to spend his first day on the throne settling old scores, and he would so hate to disappoint.

+++

Loki allows himself a few seconds of vindictive glee at the sight of Volstagg's and Fandral's nervous expressions before he reminds himself to focus.

"General Tyr."

"My king." Unlike the Warriors Two (who seem sorely tempted to hide behind the grim old general), the commander of Asgard's army appears entirely unfazed by Loki's summons. He probably has less reason than the two to be alarmed, considering that he and his new king have rarely crossed paths outside of official functions before – Thor and his merry band of warriors (and by extension, Loki – _stop it, don't go there_ ) considered themselves heroes, not soldiers, after all.

"It seems to me that it should not have been possible for any enemy of Asgard to get past our defenses the way the Svartálfar did."

Tyr's face darkens, but there's little he could say to refute Loki's statement. "It should not have been, my king."

"Indeed." Loki raises his hand, cutting off Tyr's attempt at a reply. "Apparently, we have allowed ourselves to grow complacent after a millennium of peace. We pride ourselves on our warriors who like to prove themselves in off-world skirmishes and heroic quests, but those are little more than children playing at war while we have forgotten the need to prepare for the reality of it. Until now, the memory of Asgard's former might has kept our foes at bay, but a realm guarded by memories is as safe as a fortress built of gossamer. Wouldn't you agree, General?"

Tyr's dour expression brightens a little more with every word Loki speaks, which is hardly a surprise considering that Loki is repeating statements he has heard the general himself utter during more than one feast once he was deep enough in his cups. The old man always knew better than to voice his unvarnished opinions where Odin or Thor could hear them, but hardly anyone ever cared whether Loki was listening to their drunken ramblings or not – and he usually was. "I would indeed, my king."

"Then I believe we are agreed that we need to put an end to our warriors gallivanting around the Nine in search of glory while we can't even ward off attacks against our own realm. I am of a mind to put you in charge of the reorganization of our troops and the strengthening of our defenses; you would have supreme command over everyone who bears arms in Asgard unless I consider it necessary to assume command of our army myself. Do you accept this commission, General?"

The old man raises his fist in a warrior's salute. "It will be my honor, my king." For all the gruffness of his tone, he sounds like he actually means it.

 _You will probably feel less honored once you realize against whom you will have to defend us_ , Loki can't help thinking before he pushes the thought away with practiced ease; Tyr need not know that Asgard's defenses are an area where Loki's self-interest and his kingly duties are in perfect alignment. Deep down, Loki doesn't believe that they will stand even the slightest chance if Thanos gets tired of henchmen and decides to move against the Nine himself, but he isn't going to sit idle and wait meekly for his fate to catch up with him.

_There will be no realm, no barren moon –_

He forces his thoughts back to the present by focusing his attention on the two warriors who are still trying to make themselves invisible in Tyr's shadow. "I am glad to hear it, General. I'm aware it is no small task you will undertake; therefore, I am appointing Fandral and Volstagg, two of Asgard's most accomplished warriors, as your lieutenants. They will see to it that your orders are carried out and assist you with your organizational and administrative duties in any way you see fit."

Is it just his impression, or is Tyr biting back a grin? Loki can't remember ever seeing the man smile before; all he can say for certain is that the looks he is getting from the Warriors Two – Fandral's furious, Volstagg's horrified – brighten his morning considerably.

"Fandral, Volstagg, I trust you will do your duty to the best of your abilities."

"My king." Fandral sounds like he's choking on his reply, and Volstagg's salute looks like he'd prefer to plant his fist in Loki's face instead. With some effort, Loki manages to suppress his smirk until General Tyr has marched out with his new lackeys in tow.

_Two down, two to go._

+++

"You will forgive me if I don't get up. My king."

Loki ignores the remark and gestures for the young healer by Heimdall's bedside to leave. Only when the door has closed behind the girl does he step closer to the bed where Heimdall is sitting with his back propped up against the headboard. He looks well enough except for the shimmer of healing magic over his left leg and bandaged right arm; the tension in his shoulders, however, is impossible to miss.

"Am I your king, then?"

Heimdall looks not at Loki, but at Gungnir in Loki's hand when he replies, "It appears that you are."

"Appears? You of all people in Asgard are supposed to see the truth of things, Gatekeeper."

The golden eyes meet Loki's gaze again. "You have long known how to evade my sight." At Loki's raised eyebrow, he adds, "My king" almost like an afterthought.

"I regret that your wounds prevented you from attending my coronation."

"I would not have missed it for any other reason." If Loki's words were laced with sarcasm, Heimdall's are dripping with it; Loki finds himself almost enjoying the exchange. "Have you come to make me swear fealty to you now?"

Loki shrugs. "What would be the point? We both know how much your oaths mean to you, after all."

Heimdall's expression darkens ever so slightly. "Let me ask you this, Loki of Asgard: can a true king afford to hold grudges when the safety of his realm is at stake?"

Loki's answering smile is thin and dagger-sharp. "And what a marvelous job you did with the safety of this realm lately, Gatekeeper. But tell me: how far does your all-seeing gaze truly reach? It is whispered that you can see the worlds outside the Nine as well as the things that live in the darkness between the realms."

When Heimdall remains stubbornly quiet, Loki adds calmly, "You do realize that your silence is all the answer I need?"

He turns away from the bed and starts pacing; when he continues, he makes it sound as if he were speaking to himself. "I am not going to ask you whether you saw me after my fall from the Bifröst, or during the time I am told all of Asgard mourned my death. Your answer would make no difference, Gatekeeper, because I find myself faced with two possibilities, and no matter which one of them you would confirm, my conclusion would be the same."

Oh, how he wants to ask; how he wants to throw every gruesome second he spent on Sanctuary in Heimdall's face just to see his reaction, but he already knows there would be no point. _Where were your all-seeing eyes when I was hoping, begging, screaming for you to find me? Did you truly not see, or did you avert your gaze so you could keep your silence? Or did you enjoy what you saw, you who always knew what I was while I was still struggling to prove myself worthy of the only home I ever knew?_

He doesn't face Heimdall again until he can be certain his mask is firmly back in place. "You are either blind or my enemy, and Asgard's king can afford neither in his gatekeeper."

Heimdall's eyes narrow. "If you want to do away with me, you'd better do it quickly before I start spreading certain… truths… about Asgard's new king among her citizens."

Loki laughs outright at that. Threats, really? "And which truths would that be?"

 _I applaud your foresight, Allmother_ , he can't help thinking as he watches Heimdall's futile attempt to get the words he wants to say past Frigga's geas. _Anyone who needs to play the long game should take note._

"Did you really think I was the only one who ever saw how quick you would be to break your oaths when it suited you?" Loki pauses before adding, almost like an afterthought, "Although I'm impressed that you actually kept that one for more than a millennium if you're only finding out now that it cannot be broken."

Heimdall stops struggling once he realizes his efforts are in vain. His shoulders sag ever so slightly, but other than that, he remains impassive. "I am for the axe, then?"

"Is it true that Thor died saving your life?" Loki keeps his tone carefully neutral; he is not going to let Heimdall of all people see how much effort it costs him to ask the question.

Heimdall nods gravely. "It is true, although I would rather I had perished and Prince Thor had lived."

"I believe you," Loki replies evenly without giving any indication whether he means it as a concession to Heimdall's selfless courage or as a cruel reminder that _he_ wouldn't be king if Thor were still alive. "And I am not going to render his sacrifice meaningless by sending you to the block. I will, however, choose a gatekeeper in your stead who will _not_ stab me in the back at the first opportunity."

He can't help grinning at the slight startle Heimdall isn't quite able to suppress. "Oh, you believed your secret safe, did you? After all, who in all of Asgard would be bookish enough to have studied every boring old text about the magic tied to the Golden Realm, and to her kings? Imagine my surprise" – he steps closer to the bed and reaches out towards Heimdall, who shrinks back as far as the headboard will allow him – "when, many centuries ago, I came across an ancient tome concerning the magic of Asgard's watchers, and the fact that their Sight is not an inborn ability like a sorcerer's magic, but a power granted to them by the king?"

Keeping his gaze firmly on Heimdall's widening eyes, Loki reaches for the barely perceptible tendrils of age-old magic and lets his own seiðr pull them towards him. Once he can see the golden shimmer gathering in his hand, he curls his fingers into a fist until he feels the gentle warmth of the ancient spell sink into his palm as the gold fades from Heimdall's irises and leaves them dark brown.

Heimdall gasps, his gaze empty as if he had suddenly gone blind – he hasn't, he still has an Aesir's normal sight, but Loki assumes it will take him some time to get used to seeing no more than what is right in front of him after having the entire cosmos laid out before his eyes for millennia. In many ways, it is a harsher punishment than the block would have been.

Loki finds that the thought gives him no pleasure.

"Go and live the rest of your life in peace, Heimdall." It comes out gentler than he meant it to. "This is no banishment; I do not wish to see you at the palace again, but other than that, you are free to go wherever you please. Find yourself a wife, father a dozen children if such is your desire, and keep yourself away from troubles that no longer concern you. Oh, and before I forget – if you ever feel like sowing dissent against your king, remember that I can see you from Hliðskjálf whenever I choose."

Heimdall manages to focus his gaze enough to shoot Loki a furious glare.

"I know." Loki no longer tries to keep the smugness out of his tone as he turns to leave. "It can be rather annoying to be constantly watched."

_Three down._

_The last one should be… interesting._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I noticed only after I'd written the scene that Loki's line "You're either blind or my enemy" was probably inspired by a scene in Game of Thrones, episode 6.5, during which Sansa tells Littlefinger, "If you didn't know, you're an idiot, if you did know, you're my enemy."
> 
> For the record: I don't hate Heimdall, and I don't believe he actually saw Loki with Thanos and chose to ignore him. However, this story is told from Loki's POV, and I can't see Loki trusting Heimdall any further than he can throw him at this point.


	7. Chapter 7

Sif's glaive is halfway out of its sheath before she recognizes the person who just appeared out of thin air right in front of her. "Loki, what the – I mean," she hastily corrects herself, her cheeks reddening, "I beg your pardon, my king, you startled me."

"Yes, that was rather the idea," Loki replies mildly, with just the slightest hint of amusement; it has been far too long since he's had the chance to use his skywalking abilities to such an effect. "I commend your vigilance, Lady Sif. Walk with me."

He gestures for the Einherjar under Sif's command, who have fallen to their knees at his appearance, to get up (now that he no longer has to play the role of a power-crazy conqueror, he finds that he isn't actually all that keen on people kneeling before him) and beckons Sif to follow him into the center of the Observatory where they're out of earshot. She obeys without hesitation, although her slight frown indicates that she has an inkling what this might be about.

"Anything unusual to report?"

She shakes her head. "Not as far as Asgard's safety is concerned, my king. The Convergence will reach its peak tonight, although we who don't have the gatekeeper's Sight can see little of it."

"I'm aware." A decade ago, a cosmic event of that scale would have been the only thing on Loki's mind; as it is, he hasn't had time to take more than a brief look at the approaching alignment of the worlds from Hliðskjálf's seat. "You know I'm not here to talk about the state of the cosmos, though."

Sif raises her chin ever so slightly. "I'm next, then?"

Loki does his best to keep his expression under control; he wants to keep her uncertain of her fate for as long as possible. "Your shield-brothers were quick to warn you, it seems."

She shrugs. "Word travels fast, my king."

"So you heard about Heimdall, too?"

"I did." She hesitates, as if she had realized in the nick of time that she'd been about to say something that would cross a line.

"Go ahead." Loki isn't here for a show of subservience, after all. "I can see there's something you want to say to me, Lady Sif; you have my permission to speak freely."

She takes a deep breath, clearly steeling herself. "You could have done far worse. To all of them."

"I could have." Loki keeps his voice even. "I assume you expected me to."

Sif is silent for a moment, although her eyes never leave his. "We were friends once, weren't we?"

Loki holds her gaze; his tone is almost gentle when he replies, "No, we really weren't."

She looks away for the first time and chews her lower lip for a while before she admits, "You're probably right."

Loki's eyebrows shoot up. "And yet Thor was always utterly convinced you were my friends just as much as you were his."

He doesn't miss her minuscule flinch at the mention of Thor's name, and for a heartbeat, he finds himself envying her – for being able to admit to her grief, and for understanding what it is she's feeling in the first place. There are moments when he still wishes he could grieve for Thor, but the part of him that never truly left Sanctuary knows only too well that he can't afford to loosen his tight grip on his emotions.

"Thor was... convinced of a lot of things." Before Loki can ask her to elaborate on that peculiar statement, she visibly pulls herself together. "If we are still speaking freely, my king – why am I still here at my post when Heimdall is dismissed and Fandral and Volstagg are playing errand boys for General Tyr?"

"There's the Sif I remember." This time, Loki doesn't try to hide his amusement. "The honest answer is that I'm not sure yet what I should do with you."

She shoots him a glare. "Still undecided how to best punish me?"

"Do you think you deserve punishment?" Loki deadpans, honestly curious how she's going to react.

She seems taken aback. "I trusted you even less than Fandral and Volstagg did!"

"I'm well aware." The smile Loki gives her is dagger-sharp. "It was probably the reason why _you_ always took me seriously, which is an honor neither my – neither Thor nor the Warriors Three ever granted me."

 _Betray him and I'll kill you_. For a split second, he feels the ghostly prickle of Sif's glaive at his throat, but the impression is gone before he can react. What in the Nine is the matter with him these past days? He and Sif have butted heads for as long as he can remember, but she has never physically attacked him outside of the training grounds.

Thankfully, Sif misses Loki's short slip; she looks like she, too, is struggling for composure. "I still turned traitor during your regency."

Isn't _that_ interesting. Loki wholeheartedly agrees with her, of course, but he would never have expected anyone in Asgard to acknowledge that Sif, the Three and Heimdall had all committed high treason against their rightful ruler during Thor's banishment. "I suppose you considered your actions well justified."

"I did." Sif bites her lip again, but then presses on. "I learned only later, after... when we believed you dead that you had not usurped the throne. You sent the Destroyer after Thor, but that was after we went to bring him back against your orders. What you did – I cannot think of any justification for attacking your brother, but it doesn't change the fact that we betrayed you first."

In the face of such a startling admission (from _Sif_ of all people!), Loki finds himself suddenly overcome by the mad urge to be completely candid with her for once, if only to see what she will do with the truth. He's still deliberating whether he should go with this reckless impulse when Sif decides for him.

"There's one thing I've wanted to ask you since the day Thor was supposed to be crowned." She doesn't sound hesitant anymore; obviously she, too, has decided to throw caution to the wind.

"You want to ask me if I let the Jötnar into the Vault?"

Sif holds his gaze without flinching. "I do, my king."

"You're bold, Lady Sif."

His cool tone actually seems to bolster her courage. "I suppose I have little to lose at this point."

 _That goes for both of us_ , Loki can't help thinking. Still, now that the dice are rolling, he figures it's too late to back out of the game, and if he's honest with himself, he wouldn't want to even if he could. "You're not wrong about that. Yes, as a matter of fact, I did show the Jötnar the way into the Vault and hid them from Heimdall's sight. Happy now?"

If Sif is surprised by his careless confession, she doesn't show it. "Can I ask why?"

Loki shrugs. "Isn't it obvious? I was jealous of Thor, I wanted the throne for myself, I've always been a liar and a coward..." _and a monster_ , he almost adds and catches himself just in time, "...and a stain on the Allfather's name, so I'm sure everyone expected me to betray Asgard at the first possibility."

He was going for cynical and realizes too late that his answer came out sounding bitter instead. He should probably be embarrassed, but he finds that he can't bring himself to care.

For once, he isn't able to read Sif's expression. "My king, if I may – I wasn't asking about everyone's expectations, I was asking _you_ why you did what you did, and I don't think you've answered me yet."

Loki narrows his eyes; this is beginning to get annoying. "Are we playing at honesty, Lady Sif? Very well, then: yes, I was jealous of Thor after spending my entire life in his shadow, but if it had just been about disturbing his day of triumph, I could have thought of twenty different idiotic pranks that would have ruined his coronation without forcing me to risk contacting Asgard's greatest enemy. I've always known he would be king someday, after all, and it's not like I wanted the throne – I never expected the Allfather to banish Thor for his stupidity, let alone that I would end up on the throne in the middle of the whole mess."

 _Make your father proud, my king_. Norns, what a fool he had been to believe it would ever be possible!

"I know that now." Sif's unexpected admission cuts into the memory like a knife into a festering sore. "I saw your face when I hailed you as my king after you had led us to victory against the Svartálfar. The man I saw before me... he didn't look like a man who wished for the throne. He... if it isn't too bold of me to say so, my king, you still don't look like you do."

That is far more insightful than Loki is comfortable with, and it causes his temper to flare. "You want truth, Sif? Then here's your truth: I let the Jötnar into the Vault because Thor wasn't fit to rule, didn't even understand what ruling _means_ , and I needed the Allfather to see it for himself because he dismissed my warnings as nothing more than a second son's petty jealousy. If Thor had been king when the Allfather fell into the Odinsleep, Asgard would have been at war within the month – a real war, not the glorified children's games that were Thor's fabled quests and campaigns. He would have rushed headlong into every fight no matter the consequences, and nobody would have been able to stop him."

"You're right." Sif's voice is trembling ever so slightly, but that doesn't change the fact that she actually _agreed_ with what he said, and it leaves Loki momentarily speechless. "Believe me, I wish it weren't so, but it's exactly what he did when the Svartálfar first attacked, and he paid for it with his life."

She inhales deeply and presses on even though it's obvious that she has to force herself to speak. "When they hit the Observatory... I tried to get him to wait for reinforcements, but he insisted that we needed to come to Heimdall's aid immediately, that we couldn't allow the Dark Elves to think even for a moment that they could attack Asgard with impunity... you know there was no holding him back when he was in such a temper." She tries to smile, although it comes out wobbly. "The only one who could ever do that was you."

Loki has to look away; there's a crushing weight on his chest that makes it hard to breathe. He doesn't want to remember, doesn't want to think of a hundred moments like the one Sif described, when he frantically tried to come up with ways to convince his fool of a brother not to get himself killed because as much as he often resented him, the idea of Thor no longer being a constant in his life was too impossible to consider. _Sometimes I'm envious, but never doubt that I love you_...

That was, of course, before he turned out to be one of the monsters Thor had sworn to slay, before he learned that _you're my brother and my friend_ was the biggest lie he'd ever told without meaning to, before the first words his alleged brother said to him after a year of believing him dead were 'Where's the Tesseract?' and the last thing Thor ever did to him was to muzzle him like a dog.

Loki clings to his anger with all his might because he needs to remain angry, needs to let the fury silence every other sentiment that he can't afford, that would throw him headfirst into the gaping abyss he can always sense under his feet. _Stop it, stop remembering, stop_ feeling _if you don't want to go mad with it –_

"Did you ever know how jealous I was of you?" Sif's question takes him so utterly by surprise that it manages to pull him out of his frantic thoughts. "I always knew that you held a place in his heart I could never reach, and I resented you for it, but after you were gone – he was no longer the man I had known for centuries. I always thought that my best friend and shield-brother was Thor Odinson, but it turned out that... that it had been Loki's brother, and I never truly got him back after he lost you."

Loki closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in a desperate attempt to steady himself. There are a hundred answers he could give her, but every one of them would cut much too close to truths he is _never_ going to reveal to her.

"You don't know _anything_ about me, Sif."

"I'm beginning to realize that." Sif has apparently found her composure again. "I don't know where you were after your fall from the Bifröst, or what happened on Midgard between you and Thor because he refused to talk about it after his return. I know this for a fact, though: you came back during the hour of Asgard's greatest need, you saved our queen, you avenged our king and our prince and fought by our side until our enemies were defeated." She glances at the spear in Loki's hand when she continues. "I saw with my own eyes how Gungnir came to you when you called it, and I knew then that you were Asgard's rightful king, that I owe you my fealty and my loyalty, and you will have it no matter what you choose to do with me."

At Loki's stunned silence, she adds in a tone that sounds downright defiant, "I will gladly swear it upon my honor."

"That is not the oath I'm asking of you, Lady Sif." Something that was no more than a vague idea at the back of Loki's mind when he went to talk to her has now become a firm conviction. "I have a task in mind for you that would require all your dedication and loyalty for centuries to come."

Sif raises her chin and squares her shoulders; a warrior's stance. "Name it, my king, I will fulfill it."

"Asgard needs a new gatekeeper."

Sif's eyes widen, and then narrow. "You would put Asgard's safety into _my_ hands? Since we have established that we were never friends – is that your way of keeping your enemies closer?"

Loki doesn't take the bait. "Are you my enemy?"

Sif holds his gaze for a moment before shaking her head. "I never liked you very much, Loki, but I was never your enemy."

Loki has to suppress a laugh; the utter disrespect of her blunt statement is a more convincing reassurance that he chose well than any solemn oath could be. "The first part of that sentence is what makes me inclined to believe the second one."

Sif actually grins at that, although she sobers quickly. "I don't have Heimdall's Sight."

"Not yet." Loki lifts Gungnir in both hands and lets the power of the ancient spell flow through his fingers until the spear is glowing golden with it. "It will be yours as soon as I have your oath to watch over Asgard, to dedicate your life to her safety, and to faithfully serve her king to the best of your ability. Do you swear, Lady Sif?"

At his nod, Sif kneels and places her hand on the spear. "I swear it to you, Loki, King of Asgard, on Gungnir and on my honor."

The soft golden glow starts flowing along her arm as she speaks; by the time her oath is finished, it has enveloped her entire body. Sif gasps and lets go of the spear to cover her eyes with her hands; when she lowers them again, the glow around her fades, but her irises are now gleaming with it in the brilliant gaze of Asgard's gatekeeper.

Loki can't help feeling a little envious when Sif, unsteady as if she were in a daze, clambers to her feet and walks to the edge of the Observatory where she stares out into the shining swirl of the cosmos with huge, bright eyes. The king's Sight from Hliðskjálf is said to be equal to that of the gatekeeper, but he has no idea how it feels to See with your own eyes, to have the realms laid out before your gaze wherever you go.

He grants Sif a moment to get a taste of her new ability – it will be some time until she's used to it, and probably even longer until she can truly master it. At long last, she seems to remember that she's still in the presence of her king and turns back towards him.

Loki allows himself a tiny smirk when her eyebrows draw together as soon as she looks at him. "Is anything wrong, Gatekeeper?"

"My king, I have no words to describe what I'm seeing, but... I can't see you. I mean – I can, you're standing right here, but I can't _See_ you."

"Your predecessor found that it vexed him greatly." Loki doesn't try to keep the glee out of his voice. "Consider it a chance to test your newfound feelings of faith and loyalty towards me, Lady Sif, because you will never be able to See me unless I choose to permit it."

"That is not altogether surprising," Sif answers dryly, but then adds in a more serious tone, "As Asgard will hold you to the oath you swore at your coronation, you can hold me to mine."

Loki's answering nod is solemn enough for her to take it as mockery if she wants to. "I intend to. Asgard will have to face dangerous foes, Gatekeeper, so I need you to become proficient in the use of your Sight as quickly as you can."

Sif frowns. "What foes, my king?"

Loki hesitates; he should have expected the question, but he finds that he's not prepared to answer it. He isn't going to speak to her of the Titan, of course, but keeping entirely quiet about the danger that will reach them eventually might prove disastrous as well.

"I have no clear answer for you at this point," he finally admits, although he doesn't add that the reason is reluctance and not ignorance. "Do not just watch the Nine, but turn your gaze to the worlds beyond Yggdrasil as well – learn to look far and wide, and to pierce the darkness of the Void between the realms to see if anything is stirring there."

Sif glances at him sidelong, but Loki is careful to keep his face blank. There is no way he is going to discuss his fall into the Void with her; he can see she wants to ask him about it, but even if he could find the words to describe what utter _nothingness_ means, he would never speak them because his nightmares are bad enough as they are.

She must interpret his expression correctly, because she merely nods. "I will, my king."

+++

It is past midnight when Loki quietly gets out of bed, leaves a double in his place in case a nosy servant decides to check on him, and slips out of his quarters under the cover of an invisibility spell.

It is no small relief to move through the palace without a gaggle of courtiers dogging his steps; it is only now that he truly realizes how little notice everyone took of him back when he was nothing more than Asgard's second prince. Sneaking around entirely unseen, however, is downright comforting in its familiarity.

There are a few guards stationed outside the throne room, but the vast hall itself is empty, allowing Loki to drop the cloaking spell when he sits down on the throne. He's facing a task that will need his full concentration, and he doesn't want to risk the diversion of maintaining an unnecessary working.

The moment he becomes visible, the two feathery pests that are Odin's ravens are perching on the backrest behind him as if they belonged there. Loki does his best to ignore them, although he can't help noticing that the birds appear... uneasy. Then again, they are magical constructs; perhaps they, too, can feel the approaching Convergence.

He has put this off far too long, but today, his own words to Sif reminded him that he, too, needs to learn how to truly master a new power he now wields, that he can ill afford not to utilize such an invaluable tool to its full capacity. There's never a moment of peace for him while he's on the throne during the day, so he will have to make use of the dead of night as often as he can – another thing that feels entirely familiar to him, although back then it was sufficient to lock himself into his rooms.

For once allowing himself to lounge in the uncomfortable seat with no regard for appearances, Loki closes his eyes, empties his mind and lets Hliðskjálf's Sight take him.

The peak of the Convergence is breathtaking in its majestic beauty, and Loki lets himself get lost in the sight that even most Aesir only get to observe once in their lifetime. It is incredibly liberating to forget about Asgard, about his plans and duties, even about the looming danger of Thanos for a little while and become nothing but an insignificant witness to the overwhelming spectacle of the perfect alignments of worlds. The entire cosmos is spread out before the throne's Sight; he doesn't try to focus on details, but to take it all in to the best of his abilities, to widen his mind as much as possible in order to grasp the magnitude of the display before him as far as the limits of his body allow it.

It is over far too quickly. Loki feels a pang of loss when he reluctantly pulls back, but he knows that he cannot afford more than a little while of blissfully losing himself in the moment. A part of him still feels like he's sleepwalking through an imaginary reality that will dissolve into nothingness as soon as he comes back to himself, but he's starting to accept that no matter how wrong everything still feels, it is the only reality available to him. He can feel the Aether stirring at the back of his mind; it still hasn't fully settled in Loki's dimensional pocket, far less content with its narrow confinement than the Tesseract, and the jarring reminder of _another_ power he still hasn't mastered proves surprisingly grounding. He is Loki, King of Asgard, and he needs to prepare himself and his realm, the entirety of the Nine for a fight unlike any other they have faced in millennia.

The ravens are cawing at his back, and for the first time in his life, Loki feels like he can almost understand what they're saying. There are no words, just... fragments of images in his mind, but it seems that there's another thing he might be starting to learn tonight.

Dismissing the ravens for the moment, Loki focuses on the Sight again. He knows that he must never try looking for Thanos directly, and it's not just because he isn't sure he'd be able to face the Titan again even when he's worlds away. He's only too aware that the imprint of Thanos' touch in his mind might actually manage to guide his Sight, but a connection like that, however unwillingly formed, always goes both ways, always opens a window that can be looked through from either side. Finding the Titan that way would be akin to lighting a beacon that would lead Thanos straight to him and the Infinity Gems in his possession.

Instead, Loki carefully extends his mind towards the two Gems in his pocket universe and tries to channel as much of their pull as he dares so they will guide him to their siblings. Preventing the Titan from acquiring the Stones is more important than anything else, but in order to do that, Loki needs to locate them first. He isn't conceited enough to even consider collecting them all in one place – no being of flesh and blood could hope to control the combined power of all the Infinity Stones, so it's best to leave them scattered far and wide as long as they are well out of Thanos' grasp.

He starts with the Mind Stone because he already knows where it is, and he has surprisingly little trouble locating it although he is deeply grateful he doesn't actually have to come near the accursed thing again. It doesn't take him long to confirm that the mortals are still squabbling over it, but since Midgard is centuries away from developing the ability to tap into its full power, Loki reckons the Stone is safe enough in that primitive backwater of a realm for the time being.

He's about to start searching for the other Gems when a piercing caw from Munin distracts him and pulls his Sight... sideways, for want of a better term. Irritated, Loki tries to return to his original goal, but then Hugin, too, starts cawing in his ear until Loki unwittingly focuses on the images forming before him.

His eyes narrow as he struggles in vain to make sense of what he's seeing. The ravens are getting louder, their cawing becoming more and more urgent, as if they were trying to tell him something that he can't quite understand. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a black shadow darting forward, and before he can react, he feels the peck of a razor-sharp beak at his temple. The sting of pain sends a picture flashing through his mind, clear and jagged like a shard of colored glass.

_Green fire and black smoke and a pale, sneering face with poison-colored eyes –_

Loki leaps from his seat and flings himself into the space between worlds before he has time to think about what he's doing.

+++

Frigga startles awake when all the lights in the room flare up at once. Loki is standing beside her bed, out of breath as if he had been running although he must have skywalked since the spell locking her door is still undisturbed. Not even during the first days of his youth would he have committed such an outrageous breach of protocol, but a single glance at him makes her forget entirely about protocols and propriety.

She hasn't seen that look on his face since... since the day he learned of his true origins, and Frigga feels herself go cold with sudden dread because she cannot imagine what could possibly have happened that would manage to upset him as much as _that_.

Foregoing all queenly dignity, she jumps out of bed without even bothering to put on a robe over her nightgown. "Loki, my son, what is it?"

He flinches back when she reaches for him; he's still breathing hard, and his expression is a mix of shock and fury when he hisses, "Are you still not done lying to me, Allmother? Were you ever going to admit that you knew Odin would bury me alive because he had done it before with your firstborn?"

When Frigga can only stare at him, utterly dumbfounded, he adds in a voice shaking with rage, "Tell me, did Thor _ever_ learn that he has a sister?"

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Frigga stumbles a little when they reappear in the throne room together. Loki is aware that being dragged along without warning when he's skywalking is an extremely disorienting experience, and he reaches out to steady her before he has time to think about what he's doing. When she tries to hold on to his arm, though, he quickly pulls away.

To her credit, Frigga is quick to regain her composure. "Loki, I swear to you, I have no idea what you're talking about."

And they call _him_ the God of Lies? Before he can reply, he hears a flutter of wings behind him and feels sharp claws digging into his right shoulder. Munin – how is he suddenly able to tell the ravens apart without even looking at them? – settles on his shoulder and lets out a caw that sends an image flashing through Loki's mind in a way that reminds him of a veil before his eyes being pulled aside.

"Let me show you, then." His voice is trembling with barely controlled anger, but his arm is steady when he calls Gungnir to him and raises it towards the vaulted ceiling above the throne. Frigga gasps as the gaudy frescoes that commemorate the greatness of Asgard's peaceful rule over the Nine disintegrate in a flash of green light, revealing another, entirely different layer of images underneath.

Fire and blood, death and destruction – and in the midst of the carnage, reveling in the terrible glory of their victory, Odin Warfather and his executioner, the first and truest child of his blood.

Hela, Goddess of Death.

Loki has no idea how he can recognize her when he has never seen her before, but there is no doubt in his mind who she is. He has known her name all his life, of course; the Queen of the Dead is at the center of many gruesome stories the Aesir tell their children to stress the importance of leading a life that will earn them a place in the shining halls of Valhalla when they die. They must learn to be brave and honorable lest they be cast out to wander the Dismal Lands under the rule of Queen Hela, half living woman, half rotten corpse, whose Realm of the Unquiet Dead is guarded by terrible monsters that allow none to ever leave her domain. Traitors, liars, oathbreakers, cowards – they belong to Hela until Ragnarök tears the world asunder, while the worthy shall feast in Valhalla until they see a new world rise from the ashes of the old one's destruction.

Loki has always considered it a legend as old as Asgard herself, but now it seems the Norns are still not done ripping away everything he has ever taken for granted in his life. He remembers only too well how Odin stood here in this hall during Thor's almost-coronation and called him _Thor Odinson, my heir, my firstborn_. Then again, Odin also called a Jötun foundling his son, so Loki really shouldn't be surprised any more by the realization that lies came as easily to Odin Allfather as drawing breath.

Frigga, however, is another matter, and even though he knows it shouldn't, it does trouble him to think that she calmly allowed her daughter's existence to be erased, her memory turned into a children's tale while Hela herself was buried alive in – Munin caws again, his claws digging deeper into Loki's shoulder – a dimension nobody but the ravens can access.

When he can finally bring himself to tear his eyes away from the painted horrors above his head, he finds Frigga trembling, her face ashen and her eyes wide with shock.

"I... Loki, what is this? Who – "

"Hela Odinsdottir, Goddess of Death. Odin's firstborn child." Loki keeps his voice steady, although it's not without effort. "Are you telling me you don't recognize your own daughter, Allmother?"

Frigga's face loses the last bit of color at his words. "I never had a daughter, and I never knew Odin had children before Thor was born!"

Something in Loki's chest loosens ever so slightly. "Hela isn't your daughter? You honestly didn't even know she _existed_?"

Frigga inhales deeply in an attempt to calm herself. "I will swear any oath you ask of me, my son – I didn't know any of this. How did you..." She doesn't finish the question when her eyes wander sideways towards the bird that is still perched on Loki's shoulder. "Odin's ravens are talking to you?"

"My ravens now, it appears." Munin's answering caw sounds downright affronted; the raven takes flight and joins Hugin, who is circling above the throne right underneath the gruesome frescoes. "They showed me – she's stirring in her prison, and there's no telling what will happen if she manages to break free. You don't know _anything_ about Odin's reasons for locking her away in a place so remote that only his ravens can reach her?"

She just shakes her head; she looks dazed, as if she still had trouble comprehending the magnitude of this discovery. _Being lied to for centuries doesn't seem like such a small thing when it's happening to you, does it, Allmother?_

The ravens are still circling, and the image in Loki's mind is getting clearer – a slender, pale, dark-haired figure, clad in black and green, pacing restlessly in a small room, testing the magical bonds that keep him – no, wait, where did _that_ come from? – that keep _her_ away from the sources of her own power.

"What are you going to do?" Frigga has found her voice again, although it's barely more than a shaky whisper.

"I will have to see for myself." With a flick of his wrist, Loki sends Gungnir to his pocket universe – he might have need of it where he's going. The Tesseract stirs, as if anticipating Loki's decision to travel to a place he can't get to on his own; when Loki lets his seiðr reach out towards it, he feels the answering hum of the Space Gem's power like a reassurance that calms his frayed nerves a little.

He still can't keep the bitterness from creeping into his tone when he points at the ceiling. "I trust you'll have no trouble covering everything up again while I'm gone, Mother."

She flinches a little, but doesn't otherwise react to the barb. "How are you going to get there? If the ravens say only they can reach her –"

Loki smiles thinly. "We'll see about that."

Holding on to the pulse of the Tesseract's energy, he shifts into the shape of a magpie and takes flight, calling for the ravens to follow and show him the way.

+++

"My, that is a _lot_ of ruffled feathers."

The cold voice that greets Loki when he changes back into his Aesir appearance ( _exchanging one disguise for another – it's what he has been doing all his life, after all_ ) is tinged with amusement, although it also carries the impression of a sneer.

Loki calls Gungnir to his hand as the two ravens settle on his shoulders. They do seem indignant, as if the fact that Loki was able to match their flight insulted them deeply, but it's probably just another affront on top of all those times Loki managed to evade their beady gaze during his youth. He doesn't need them to like him as long as he can rely on them to share their knowledge with him when it concerns matters of importance.

Dismissing the train of thought, Loki turns to face Hela Odinsdottir.

He has seen her in the paintings, and yet he isn't prepared for the sight that awaits him. A pale, angular face with cold eyes, framed by jet-black hair, narrow lips curled into a smile that holds no warmth, a lithe body clad in black and green, her movements graceful like a panther on the prowl as she stalks closer. Loki has worn a female form many times in his life, and now he's struck by the realization that the female shape which comes most naturally to him is a slightly younger version of the woman before him.

Was it Odin's cruel joke to mold his cuckoo child after the daughter he had cast out? Or did Loki's own fledgling seiðr latch on to the woman in Odin's memory, shaping his Aesir disguise into a form the Allfather had grown to hate? Was it Hela Odin saw every time he looked at Loki as he grew up into the image of the daughter who was rotting in her secluded prison?

_Was my monstrous blood not enough to make me less in your eyes, Allfather – did you have to shape me into the appearance of your own monstrous child as well?_

"You haven't visited me in quite some time. You know it's not wise to allow me to grow _too_ bored, don't you?"

It takes Loki a moment to realize that Hela is not addressing him, but the ravens on his shoulders. "You can understand them?" It was probably a stupid thing to ask, but his surprise got the better of him.

Hela shrugs. "All those of Odin's blood can; they're his constructs, after all. They don't tell me much, but it's better than not knowing at all what's happening in the world of the living."

It's a strange turn of phrase coming from a woman known as the Goddess of Death, but Loki finds himself distracted by the question why Thor never mentioned that he could understand the ravens when Loki could not. Had Odin forbidden him to mention it so Loki wouldn't notice the difference? Or had Thor in his usual obliviousness just assumed that Loki could understand them as well and only chose not to speak to them since he was usually busy avoiding them? Had he – _stop this, it's pointless to ponder questions that will never be answered now that Thor is dead. The woman before you is dangerous enough to make Odin fear her; keep your wits about you._

"You're his heir, then?" Loki merely raises an eyebrow at the question, but Hela smiles in a way that reminds him of a wolf baring its fangs. "Oh, I didn't need _them_ to tell me that Odin is dead. I've been waiting a long time for it to happen, after all, but apparently _someone_ couldn't wait to snatch up Gungnir once the old fool finally croaked."

Loki barely bites back a smile of his own. If what she says is true, her binding isn't tied to the life of Odin Borson, but to that of the king of Asgard – a wise precaution that shows an interesting difference in attitude compared to the spell Odin placed on Mjölnir. Was Odin less arrogant back then when he banished Hela, or was Thor simply not dangerous enough to ensure that the limits placed on his power would outlast Odin's death?

"Gungnir came to me the moment Odin fell," he informs her matter-of-factly and adds, because her condescending tone makes him itch to remind her who is holding the reins here, "Terribly sorry to inconvenience you."

Her eyes narrow. "A moment would have been more than enough for me. You've wielded Gungnir before, haven't you?"

It's Loki's turn to shrug; he isn't going to give her any indication of the dark memories her question evokes. "I ruled Asgard during Odin's last Sleep."

For just a heartbeat, she looks as if she were about to attack him, but she quickly gets herself under control again. "So there already was a rightful king of Asgard to claim the spear when Odin died. And here I was worrying that the old fool would crown his golden son during his lifetime to make sure I couldn't break free of my bonds when he died."

_This was to be my day of triumph, brother –_

Loki clenches his teeth so hard that his jaw hurts. _Clear your mind of all images, don't let your thoughts show on your face, don't let anyone see that they're getting to you._ He clings to the old mantra like a lifeline because she must never know how deeply her words affected him. _I, Loki, rightful King of Asgard..._

Her expression turns predatory. "The Thunderer is dead too, then? I've heard enough about you, little dark brother, to know that Gungnir would never have picked _you_ as Asgard's defender if the crown prince had been available."

The jibe is clearly meant to rattle him further, but it has the opposite effect; Loki is so used to such taunts that the familiarity manages to ground him. He sees no point in denying her assumption concerning Thor; nobody would have chosen Loki to defend Asgard if Thor had been an option as well. And yet...

Loki Laufeyson, Defender of Asgard. He hopes the Norns are having a good laugh at his expense.

Hela's smile is a promise of fire and blood; he can see flames licking up around her, engulfing the Golden Realm in a blazing inferno of collapsing roofs and tumbling spires until he's choking on the stench of ash and brimstone as the ground rips open underneath his feet –

The ravens on Loki's shoulders start cawing at the same time, shrill and strangely dissonant; the sound is harsh and ugly, but it manages to pull Loki out of his... whatever it was he saw and bring him back to the present. Mentally cursing his treacherous mind – this is probably the worst possible moment to show any kind of weakness – he tightens his fingers around the spear in his hand and forces himself to counter her attack. "And yet, it apparently preferred me to you."

Her face twists into a grimace that reminds Loki of the old children's tales about a queen who wore half of death's own features. Again, her attempt at intimidation has the opposite effect on him; by reacting to his taunt, she has shown her own hand, and Loki doesn't hesitate to go for the opening she's giving him.

"That was where your fearsome might came from, _sister_ , was it not? You were invincible while you drew from Asgard's own power, but now that you're cut off from it, all that remains for you is... this." Loki allows himself a closer look at their surroundings; they seem vague and nondescript, as if the room around them were not quite there. He can't see walls or any other boundaries, and yet the place feels cramped enough to almost make him claustrophobic. Is this how he, too, would have had to spend eternity if Thor had managed to drag him back to Asgard? The executioner's axe would have been merciful by comparison.

"Indeed it is." Hela's tone is icy now, the flames of her fury hidden under a calm mask that seems disconcertingly familiar. _We're not so different, you and I_ , Loki can't help thinking even though he quickly pushes the thought away.

"However, _brother_ ," now her words are dripping sarcasm like poisoned honey, "let me remind you that it's easy to mock me while you're the one who holds all the power. I have seen many times how quickly anyone's luck can change, and I'm very good at waiting."

Loki ponders her for a while – the barely constrained power he can feel thrumming underneath her skin, the familiarity of her anger and her thirst for revenge, her barely veiled threat that reminds him of the far bigger threat he will eventually have to face.

The ravens on his shoulders are flapping their wings in obvious agitation, but Loki pays them no heed; he's too busy contemplating a vague idea that's slowly taking shape in his mind. When he finally speaks again, his voice is businesslike.

"Perhaps we can reach an arrangement."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apparently keep underestimating the loquaciousness of the House of Odin, because Loki and Hela are still not done talking. In my defense, these two have a lot of catching up to do!
> 
> Since several reviewers said last time that they prefer shorter chapters to having to wait for a super-long one – here's part two out of (probably…) three of Loki and Hela's little "I'll show you my Daddy issues if you show me yours"-themed chat…

"An _arrangement_?" Hela's raised eyebrow looks so eerily familiar that Loki feels a shiver creep down his spine. "Do you truly expect me to believe that you're here for any other reason than to kill me?"

"The possibility doesn't seem to concern you overmuch."

She shrugs. "Death is my birthright; it holds little terror for me. Besides" – the smile she gives him is all teeth – "I'd really like to see you try."

_Your birthright was to die as a child, cast out onto a frozen rock_ –

Loki clutches Gungnir tighter at the sound of Odin's voice in his mind, speaking words he is certain he has _never_ heard the Allfather say to him. He can feel a strange, barely perceptive vibration that seems to originate inside his skull and sets his teeth on edge; it reminds him of the Tesseract's gentle hum, but harsher, with a hint of... if not quite malevolence, then at least irritation to it. He pushes back against it with all his might; he cannot afford to get distracted now. The ravens must notice it too, and the tiny pinpricks of pain as they dig their claws into his shoulders pull him out of his inner struggle and back to reality.

_Reality_. Is that it?

No matter; whatever it is, it will have to wait.

Hela is tapping her foot in a show of impatient indignation. "Aren't you at least going to grace me with an answer?"

"I'm not here to bicker with you." Loki takes a deep breath and chooses the direct approach; Hela seems too much like him to be ensnared in a web of words. "I won't allow you to escape from your prison, but I haven't decided yet what I'm going to do with you; it depends on the answers _you_ will give me."

She looks surprised, but recovers quickly and flashes him another one of those wolf-like smiles. "So the new king of Asgard has questions?"

"Who wouldn't, as Odin's successor?"

She laughs outright at that. "Oh, I _like_ you, little brother. You have a reputation as a liar, so I imagine you of all people would appreciate that the throne you're sitting on belonged to the greatest liar of all. Ask me, then; I will give you truth."

Loki scoffs. "You don't really expect me to believe that, do you?"

Hela's answering grin is downright conspiratorial. "I'd be terribly disappointed in you if you did."

Loki allows himself to grin back, and it's only partly to lure her into feeling like she's controlling the situation. "I'm glad we understand each other."

"How could we not? We are both of Odin's blood, after all."

_Not quite as all-knowing as you consider yourself to be, dearest "sister"_ , Loki thinks with a mixture of smugness and relief that finally manages to alleviate the nagging feeling of unease in the pit of his stomach. "Not of Queen Frigga's blood, though."

It's another test – but Hela doesn't pick up on the double meaning, she merely snorts in disdain. "As if Odin's golden queen could ever bear a daughter like me. No, Loki Friggjarson, my mother never sat on Asgard's throne; my birth killed her when King Bor still ruled the Realm Eternal. Bor died not long after Odin presented me to his father; Bor's queen, Bestla, was already long dead at that point, so I was the entirety of Odin's family during the first centuries of his reign."

There's a faraway look in her eyes for a moment, but it disappears quickly when Loki asks, "Who was your mother?"

Hela shrugs. "I've been told that her name was Angrboða, and that she was a sorceress from the royal line of Jötunheim. Odin always called her a princess to me, although I rather think she was merely a distant relative of the Jötun king."

"Of _Laufey_?" Loki's mind has gone strangely blank – not only because Hela might actually be related to him after all, but because Odin had apparently chosen a Frost Giant for his... wife? The idea seems absurd, but would Odin have been able to raise Hela as a princess of Asgard if she had been his bastard? His _Frost Giant_ bastard?

_He raised a Frost Giant changeling as a prince of Asgard, remember?_

But why, after locking his half-Jötun child away and subduing Jötunheim in a brutal war, would Odin allow another spawn of that blood into his family? Or was he really trying to replace one monstrous child with another when he picked Loki up in that temple?

Hela shakes her head. "It was Laufey's grandfather who ruled Jötunheim back then. Laufey slew him and took his throne when I was barely out of girlhood, which used to be the traditional way of settling the succession among the members of their royal house. As Princes Vili and Ve Borson found out too late." She seems greatly amused by Loki's expression, which he is a little too slow to get under control. "You weren't aware that Odin killed his brothers in order to become first in line for the throne? Did you never wonder why King Bor was succeeded by the _youngest_ of three sons?"

Loki isn't certain what to think any more. She could be lying, of course, but what would she have to gain from it? Does she truly think she will be able to unsettle him by trying to blacken Odin's memory? "I heard that they... died."

"Oh, they most certain did." Hela laughs again. "It's a pity Queen Bestla didn't live to see her favorite son upholding the traditions of her line."

"Her line?" Loki is still reeling from her revelations, but he'll be damned if he'll let her see it. "What is that supposed to mean?"

For the first time, it's Hela who seems taken aback. "You really don't know that Grandmother Bestla had Jötun blood?"

Loki, utterly dumbstruck, can only shake his head; he isn't sure he'd be able to keep his voice steady if he tried to speak. _Odin_ was part Frost Giant? Thor, who had spent his childhood swearing to kill all the monsters as soon as he came of age, had Jötun blood in his veins?

_I only wanted to protect you from the truth..._

He doesn't want to believe it, but again, why would she lie about such a thing, considering that it's her own lineage she's talking about?

"For shame." Hela sounds honestly dismayed. "I heard that the relationship between Asgard and Jötunheim never quite recovered after the Great War, but I wouldn't have expected things to remain so bad that Odin found it necessary to deny his own bloodline."

"The Aesir place great value on the purity of their blood." Loki's voice sounds strange in his own ears, but at least it doesn't shake.

Hela gives him a look that borders on pity. "Is that what you've been told, little brother? We Aesir have always kept our blood strong by mixing it with that of our strongest foes once we had subdued them. Your mother is of the Vanir because Odin chose a princess of Vanaheim as his war-bride after we conquered her realm. Or are you telling me you don't know of your own mixed blood either?"

_His_ mixed blood?

Loki barely manages to suppress a laugh that would have had more than a tinge of hysteria to it when it dawns on him that he might in fact be the only member of Asgard's royal family whose blood is _pure_ , but then – he doesn't even know that, does he? Odin only told him he was Laufey's son, but he never mentioned Loki's birth mother. Did Laufey even have a queen? Did he abandon his trueborn son because of the infant's stunted size, or did he merely get rid of an unwanted bastard he had produced with an off-world harlot, or an unfortunate prisoner of war? Do Loki and Hela look so alike because their appearance is that of all Jötun-Aesir half-breeds? But then, why did Loki always stand out like a wolf cub among hunting dogs in Asgard's golden royal family when Odin and Thor had Jötun blood as well? Would Thor's arm also have turned blue from a Frost Giant's touch? Would the Casket of Ancient Winters have changed Odin the same way it changed Loki when he held it in his bare hands?

_That_ idea is too ridiculous to even consider it. Loki is well aware that the most dangerous lies are those you tell yourself; he can't allow himself to believe even for a moment that he might actually have Aesir blood in his veins. He was born a Frost Giant runt, and he needs to come to terms with that fact no matter how much he hates his monstrous heritage – if only because a mage's sense of self is crucial for mastering the forces he wields. Given the amount of power Loki has to control on top of his own innate magic in his position as Asgard's ruler and keeper of two Infinity Stones, he doesn't have the luxury of clinging to pleasant illusions about himself any more.

_Who are you then, son of two fathers and none? Child of two realms and none?_

_What do you still know to be true about yourself, God of Lies?_

Once again, Loki tightens his grip on Gungnir until his knuckles turn white. For the first time, the low, steady pulse of Asgard's magic within the spear feels reassuring rather than vaguely threatening – and to his surprise, he realizes that he actually has an answer to his own questions.

_I am Loki, King of Asgard._

He isn't sure when it happened, at which point exactly he has begun to ease into this strange new part the Norns would have him play. The world that surrounds him still doesn't make sense, but even though the underlying feeling of wrongness keeps grating against his consciousness, he is at least beginning to recognize himself again.

Hela is watching him with narrowed eyes, but now that he has found his footing, Loki manages to pull the calm mask back over his face. "I didn't come here to speak of _my_ life's story, sister."

"Ah." Hela grimaces as if she had bitten into something sour. "You want to hear the tale of your terrible sibling's downfall out of her own mouth, is that it? Do you truly need _me_ to sing you the song of Hela's caging? You must have heard it often enough in your father's hall."

It takes all of Loki's self-control to keep his expression blank. _Is that what you think, daughter of Odin? Let's see how_ you _like having your certainties ripped away, then!_

His casual tone doesn't give away the glee he feels when he answers, "They didn't tell children's tales in Odin's hall, I'm afraid."

" _What_?" Her eyes now blazing with anger, Hela takes a step closer. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Loki shrugs with deliberate indifference. "That's what your story is, I'm afraid – a fairytale children hear from their nursemaids, of the queen of Helheim who rules over the souls of those who didn't earn a place in Valhalla. I doubt you'd find an adult in Asgard today who believes you to be anything but a legend we use to frighten our children into behaving."

When Hela remains silent, he continues, not wanting to give her time to recover from her obvious shock, "But since you promised me truth, I'm willing to listen to your version of the story."

"It can't be." She seems torn between fury and incredulity, and it gives Loki no small amount of satisfaction to see the tables turned so completely. "It took all his power to cut me off from mine – he had to sacrifice his eye for the spell to bind me! It has barely been more than a dozen centuries, half of Asgard's population must still remember the times when I lead our armies from victory to victory!"

Odin lost his eye binding Hela? Loki has never come across any binding spell that would require such a sacrifice; to his knowledge, the only reason a mage would have to give up an essential part of himself is a working meant to take away something equally essential from somebody else… or something of lesser importance from a great number of people.

A great number… such as every intelligent being within the Nine Realms? Impressed despite himself, Loki ponders the question for a moment – yes, it might just be possible for someone who commands Asgard's magic to complete a working that tampers with the memories of billions, but there would definitely be a steep price to pay.

This time, he allows a hint of smugness to slip into his reply. "I believe Odin gave up his eye for a somewhat more ambitious goal than just your imprisonment. If what you're telling me is true, he didn't just cage you, he also tried to erase every memory of you – which didn't entirely take, but the shreds that remained quickly turned into legends and fairytales."

"That goat-fucking son of a bitch!" Hela is shaking with rage, and seeing her lose control so utterly does wonders for Loki's own rattled nerves.

"Quite so." He makes a show of reaching up to pet Hugin when the raven lets out an affronted caw; the fact that it doesn't cost him a finger confirms his assumption that the ravens consider him their master now no matter how much they dislike him. "I believe you were about to tell me what actually happened?"

Hela is visibly trying to pull herself together although it's obvious she's still livid. "We made Asgard great, he and I – the Nine were trembling before us, but once he was safe in his supreme power on his golden throne, he decided he wanted to share it with an equally golden queen. A little Vanir princess had caught his eye after her realm's defeat – I wanted to move on to conquering Alfheim since the Ljósálfar had been Vanaheim's allies, but he contented himself with putting a Vanir puppet king on their throne. He claimed he was tired of war and wanted to make peace." She spits out the word as if it were something dirty. "Just imagine – Odin Glad-of-War, Father of Hosts, declaring he was putting sword and shield aside because he was tired of fighting and wanted to rule the Nine in peace! And when I defied him, when I tried to make him see that he was risking the ruin of everything he and I had accomplished for the sake of his bride's honeyed smile, he celebrated his betrothal to that vapid slip of a girl by casting me out of my home to rot in a cage for the rest of my life! He claimed I was out of control and had become dangerous, that I would betray him and threaten the life of his queen, when the truth is that _he_ betrayed everything he had ever taught me to believe! I was right to warn him, too – the Jötnar would never have dared to attack Midgard while I was still leading Asgard's troops! And now you're telling me they don't even _remember_ me?"

"I wouldn't know." Loki quickly steers the conversation away from that particular topic. "However, I know for a fact that besides Asgard, they tell the story of Queen Hela of Helheim on Midgard and Vanaheim as well, and since King Freyr of Alfheim is Vanir, I suppose it is told among the Ljósálfar too. Other than that, I couldn't say, but I _am_ certain that I have never heard of a real person behind the fairytales until I saw you for myself from Hliðskjálf."

Hela still seems to have trouble believing him. "Then how did he explain the fact that he was suddenly short an eye?"

"I've always been told that Odin lost his eye in the war against Jötunheim."

"That was years later." Hela pauses to think for a moment. "The crafty old bastard must have hidden it under an illusion, but it would have been a constant drain on his power to maintain such a thing permanently, so he probably took the first opportunity to pass it off as a battle-wound."

Loki frowns. "Such a small thing wouldn't take much seiðr to maintain."

"Odin never possessed much innate seiðr. He didn't need it either, considering he had all of Asgard's magic at his disposal. A permanent illusion would have been beyond him, though; one would have to be a pretty powerful mage to be capable of such a feat."

Interesting – while Hela doesn't seem to know much about the topic of magecraft, she doesn't speak of it with the underlying tone of disdain Loki is used to encountering from pretty much every other Aesir he has ever met. It's somewhat risky, but he is curious enough now to tip his hand a little.

"I could do it indefinitely." Never mind the fact that he could just shapeshift into a different appearance, but he isn't quite willing to share that information with her.

Hela seems intrigued. "You could wear another face for as long as you pleased?"

"I've done it many times." Loki experiences a brief flash of disorientation when he sees himself standing before a mirror that shows him Odin's face instead of his own. At a quick shake of his head, the vision fades as swiftly as it had appeared. _What the –_

"Curious." There's a strange edge in Hela's voice. "Perhaps there's more of Grandmother Bestla in you than you thought."

Loki merely raises an eyebrow. "Meaning?"

"Oh, Bestla had quite a reputation as a sorceress in her day. The Jötnar have always claimed that there's a streak of magical talent running in their royal house; I assumed it was the kind of thing that didn't get passed on to one's part-Aesir descendants, but apparently I was wrong."

"There are plenty of Aesir who have magic, and Queen Frigga does too." Even though Loki shares no relation with Odin's mother, he greatly dislikes the inference that his seiðr might be tied to Laufey's blood in his veins. His magic is such an integral part of who he is that he doesn't want it to be tainted by his lineage, although he can't help wondering whether it might not be the reason for the thinly veiled disdain Odin always showed towards Loki's magical accomplishments when he praised Frigga for hers. Loki had always assumed that Odin shared Asgard's prejudice of seiðr being a womanly skill, but what if he saw it as a manifestation of Loki's monstrous bloodline instead?

_Some do battle, others just do tricks –_

Hela makes a face. "Pish – Vanir magic is good for scrying and soothsaying, but not for anything of actual use, and Aesir mages know healing spells and not much else. No, little magical brother, if you have anything like real power, it comes from our father's mother's side."

_And then to be reminded what real power is…_

Loki shoves the memory aside; his time on Midgard now feels like the nebulous remnant of a nightmare he would very much like to forget entirely. He focuses on the slight tension in Hela's tone instead; is that _jealousy_ he's hearing? The idea of finding himself on the receiving end of such a sentiment seems downright strange.

"You don't have magic yourself?"

Her shrug is far too nonchalant for him to fall for it. "Not much, and I didn't bother training it either; I never had need of it." There's an almost manic glimmer in her eyes when she adds, "I had something _much_ better than that."

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I thought I'd get the confrontation between Loki and Hela finished in this chapter? That didn't quite work out…

"By 'something' you mean your ability to command Asgard's magic, I assume."

"Oh yes. I'm sure your father taught you that only the king can wield it, but Odin knew better – Asgard was mine as much as it was his and maybe even more than that, because I was the one who truly knew how to use her power against everyone who dared to stand in her way."

Hela takes another step closer, and Loki needs all of his willpower not to flinch back – not because he's afraid of her, but because she looks like she might start frothing at the mouth any moment. Is this the madness Odin feared when he decided to lock her away?

 _Is this what I looked like to Thor when we fought on the Bifröst?_ The thought is as unexpected as it is unwelcome, and Loki does his best to shove it aside.

"We were once the seat of absolute power in the cosmos." Hela sounds as if she were reciting an incantation. "Do you understand what that means, little brother? Our supremacy was unchallenged, yet Odin stopped at Nine Realms when our destiny is to rule over all others! And I, Hela, Goddess of Death, am the only one who can restore that power."

"Is that so." Loki keeps his tone bone-dry. "Then why, pray, am _I_ the one standing here with Gungnir in my hand?"

She hisses at him like an angry cat. "You dare mock me?"

Loki shrugs. "What is there to dare? You're trapped with no hope of escaping, and all your blustering doesn't change the fact that your life is entirely in my hands. Do you truly think empty tirades are going to impress me?"

_It takes a better liar than you, dear sister, to posture your way out of a noose around your neck; I could teach you a thing or two about it._

Her flaring nostrils remind Loki of a dragon about to breathe fire, but all she does is draw a deep breath; she must have realized that she has gone too far. "I do not threaten, King of Asgard – I'm trying to make you see that with my help, you could restore Asgard to her old glory and bring the entire universe to heel if you wished it. Are you truly going to foolishly cast such an asset aside just like Odin did?"

There's something in her voice that, combined with the barely suppressed greed in her expression, takes Loki's mind back to the very last place he wants to revisit – because he can't count the number of such diatribes he got to hear on Sanctuary (although they were usually hard to hear over the screams which were all too often his own) while Thanos' children tried to convince him to give himself over to their master's cause. Thanos himself had no need of such methods – none were brought before him until they were considered thoroughly broken, until he could dangle the possibility of a reprieve before their eyes, safe in the knowledge that most would do anything he asked of them just to remain out of the hands of the Black Order.

_He will make you long for something as sweet as pain…_

Pushing past the sick feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach, Loki refocuses on the woman who truly believes he'll be stupid enough to fall for her offer of 'helping' him to restore Asgard's blood-drenched rule over the Nine Realms – realms that will soon have to face a far more terrifying threat than Asgard ever was. The recent attack of the Svartálfar has thoroughly proven that the age of Asgard's supremacy is over; the Aesir have prided themselves on their role as protectors of the Nine since he can remember, but how could they possibly defend the other realms against an enemy like the Titan when they can't even defend themselves against those realms they're supposed to protect?

If you find yourself standing alone against an invincible foe, what you need is allies, not cowering subjects. Either might try to stab you in the back, but possible betrayal is still preferable to certain defeat – and easier to prevent if you keep your wits about you.

In a split-second decision, Loki realizes that he knows what he needs to do. It's a dangerous gamble, yes, and he's not usually one for blind recklessness, but he has never been able to resist the temptation of a dance on razor's edge either.

_Shall we dance then, you and I, Goddess of Death? Will you follow where I intend to lead you?_

Now that his mind is made up, Loki finds he can finally breathe easier. "You're right, sister – it is time I decided what I should do with you."

His announcement must convince Hela that she's not going to like what she's about to hear, because she takes a step back and hunches her shoulders like a panther preparing to pounce. "Is this where you tell me I'm too dangerous to let me live?"

"Actually, I am preparing for the fight against an adversary who is far more dangerous than you will ever be." Loki keeps his tone even, although her flashing eyes tell him that the barb hit home. "Therefore, like I told you before, I'm offering you an arrangement."

"You mean you're about to dictate one."

Loki shakes his head. "Not at all; if you refuse, I'll simply leave you here in your prison. I expect I will have to keep my ravens very busy from now on, though, so I doubt they'll still be able to find the time to visit you."

Hela scoffs. "You really think a petty threat like that is going to break me?"

Loki barely resists the urge to roll his eyes. "How about you listen to my offer first before you start spitting defiance?"

"If you're not offering me my freedom, I'm not interested."

"Not even if I offer you a realm?"

There's dead silence for a moment. Under different circumstances, Loki would find her slack-jawed expression highly entertaining, but now is hardy the time. "That's what I thought."

"Which realm?" Now that Hela has found her voice again, she has apparently also rediscovered her pragmatism under all the bluster. "This place here? It exists outside of any known dimension."

 _Not if you have Space and Reality at your disposal_. Loki doesn't let himself dwell on the fact that he still has no idea whether the Aether will follow his directions as willingly as the Tesseract, and what he's going to do if it doesn't. "Not quite – from what I can tell, it's merely an extradimensional bubble, and I expect I will be able to break it open. The place itself is real enough."

Hela's expression turns predatory. "Where are we, then?"

The eagerness of her question finally gets her the long-deserved eyeroll. "You seriously believe that Odin was stupid enough to keep you on Asgard? Sorry to disappoint you again, sister dearest – you're never coming anywhere near Asgard again. You're on Niflheim, and if you agree to my proposition, you'll get to make it your own."

"Niflheim?" Hela sounds downright insulted. "A barren wasteland of fog and darkness? What am I supposed to do with _that_?"

"Doesn't such a place seem like a fitting domain for the Goddess of Death?" Loki knows he shouldn't needle her, but he has never been very good at doing only what he should. "Granted, it's a backwater realm, but hardly dead – sparsely populated, with no ruler of any kind, but many of those who dwell here are rather interesting individuals who either sought refuge on Niflheim or are stranded here because no other realm would tolerate their presence any more." He remembers the Svartálfar monster that he sent here and wonders idly whether the creature is now wandering through Niflheim's mists or was already torn apart by the foul magic that must have been used to create it. "Besides, Niflheim has served as a battleground for the other realms for millennia, so if there's any truth to the legends that you can command the legions of the dead, you should have your pick among the fallen who were left here."

She laughs, although there's a shrill edge to it. "So you do believe in fairy tales, after all?"

There _is_ a story there, Loki is certain; not the one that was told in the legends, but there's obviously something she doesn't want him to learn. The ravens might know, but until they choose to tell him – wait. What good is a servant who can only talk, but not listen?

Keeping his eyes on Hela, Loki tentatively extends his mind until he finds what he's looking for – a consciousness, calm if slightly ill-tempered; then another who appears less composed, but is still quicker to react to Loki's wordless question.

_A huge stone crypt, filled with skeletons in ancient armor – and among them, the remains of a giant wolf, the bones of his paws still bound by massive chains. Green fire flickering above, thick layers of stone keeping it away from the army of the dead so as not to awaken them..._

Munin's caw sounds a little smug, and Loki makes a mental note to ensure that in future, the patronizing feathered pests will provide him with _all_ their knowledge without waiting for him to ask the right questions first. Right now he has more urgent matters to deal with, though.

"I'd say that the fact you actually exist proves that there is some truth to this particular tale," he replies with just enough arrogance to rile her up and make her careless. "Tell me, where _does_ the story of you ruling the dead come from? Or of the monsters that guard the Dismal Lands for you?"

Hela shrugs. "I really couldn't tell you."

"Couldn't, or wouldn't?" When she doesn't reply, he adds, "If I ever decide to wake him and his shield-brothers underneath the Vault, I suppose Fenris will be rather disappointed to hear that you now deny him."

Her eyes flash murder; for a heartbeat, Loki is convinced she's about to go for his throat. He allows a wisp of seiðr to creep along Gungnir's shaft and set the spear aglow with greenish fire not unlike the magical flames in the image the ravens showed him; he's pretty sure he knows what those are. "I really wouldn't if I were you, sister."

She reins herself in, although he'd still drop dead on the spot if glares could kill. "As if _you_ could ever wield the power to awaken my army!"

"I don't see why not – the Eternal Flame is at the king's disposal just like every other weapon in Asgard's vault. I thank you for being thoughtful enough to provide Asgard's army with reinforcements; I'm sure they will prove useful when the day comes."

Thanos can't kill those who are already dead, can he? Loki has always known better than to try his hand at necromancy because every competent – and sane – mage is aware of the inherent dangers, but desperate times may eventually call for desperate measures.

"My army can never be turned against me, and least of all Fenris." Hela's voice is hoarse with fury, presenting Loki with the perfect opportunity to twist the knife even further.

"Oh, I wasn't talking about fighting _you_." He knows he shouldn't enjoy baiting her, but it's a welcome distraction from the reason behind this whole exchange. "One way or another, you will never be a threat to Asgard again, Goddess of Death."

"Because you truly believe I'll content myself with Niflheim? Do you think me a dog, happy to be thrown a bone by my master?"

"I need not be your master if you are willing to be my ally." She opens her mouth, no doubt for a scathing reply, but he cuts her off before she can speak. "No, hear me out. It's true, Niflheim doesn't hold a candle to the Realm Eternal, but you would be free there – free to rule as you see fit, free to gather new subjects among those who have reason to avoid the other realms. Every realm has its own unique power, and in time, I don't doubt you will learn to draw from your new kingdom's power just like you drew from Asgard's. It will not compare to what you once wielded, but I know I would prefer such a life to being shut away for eternity – I've been to Niflheim, and I assure you it's far more hospitable than your current abode. What do you say, sister? You've always fancied yourself a conqueror of worlds, and here's an entire world that is yours for the taking." With a smirk he can't quite suppress, he adds, "Feel free to rename it Helheim."

For once, Hela ignores the jibe. She cocks her head to the side as if she were deliberating something, although Loki doubts that she's truly thinking about his offer. "You have visited Niflheim?"

"Quite a few times." It's true, too; Loki used to wander far and wide throughout the Nine during the days when he was still honing his ability to walk the Secret Paths. He hasn't had reason to return there in centuries (it _is_ a rather dismal place, after all), but he knows well enough what he's talking about.

Now the honeyed smile is back, and it's no less venomous than before. "You're remarkably well-traveled for someone who never saw a proper military campaign."

Oh, those accursed ravens were well and truly extensions of Odin's mind – because Hela apparently knew almost nothing of Loki's magical abilities, yet she seems well-informed of all the ways in which Loki failed to live up to Odin's expectations. If she thinks she can get to him that way, though, she's a few years too late.

Loki waves the half-veiled insult aside with a careless gesture. "It's possible to travel for other reasons than bashing people's heads in." A hundred instances of being dragged along on one of Thor's 'quests' spring to his mind, but Loki clamps down on the memories before they can distract him.

Hela sneers. "You clearly take after the soft-hearted little quim who turned the greatest of all kings into a pathetic weakling."

"Thank you," Loki replies coolly, "and I will make you regret it if you ever dare to insult my mother in my presence again."

She raises an eyebrow, but doesn't otherwise react to the threat. "Since you're trying so hard to sell me your charming idea of ruling Niflheim, I take it there's a catch?"

Loki shrugs. "None you shouldn't be expecting anyway. If you accept my offer, Niflheim will be yours, but you won't be able to leave it, and while anyone will be free to come to your realm if you allow it, none who are under your rule may ever depart again."

Her face twists into an expression of contempt. "You would have me rule in chains?"

For a second, Loki decides to drop all pretense. "Is there another way?"

He has always known that there are no stronger chains than those that shackle a king to his throne – it's the reason he never dreamed of ruling, not even during his childhood when Odin was still telling both his sons, the real and the false one, that either of them had been born to be king.

 _A throne would suit you ill, brother._ Loki can well imagine what Thor would have said to the idea of giving another throne to their murderous sister, but Loki is determined to do whatever it takes to even the odds a little more in their inevitable fight against the Titan. If she can keep Niflheim out of Thanos' grasp, he'll consider it well worth the risk of turning her loose there.

It's Hela's turn to roll her eyes. "How very philosophical of you. I'm curious, though – why would you set me free in my own realm, even if you chain me to it? You could just leave me where I am, after all." When Loki doesn't reply right away, she adds in a tone so deceptively soft it's clear she thinks she's moving in for the kill, "Who has Asgard's king so terrified that he would choose _me_ as an ally rather than having to face him alone?"

Loki takes a deep breath, steeling himself. It's not like he wasn't expecting the question (he has been dropping more than enough hints, after all), but he finds that his skin still crawls at the idea of having to speak of _him_ at last. It can't be helped, though – he can obfuscate to Sif's or Tyr's faces, but Hela will not be satisfied with anything less than a straight answer.

"Have you ever heard of the Mad Titan?"

"Thanos?" Hela seems taken aback. "He's a myth."

Loki forces himself to smile. "Yesterday I would have said the same thing about you."

She doesn't answer right away, and even though she does her best to keep her expression blank, it's not hard to guess what's going through her mind right now.

"I know what you are thinking, sister, and I assure you that you are mistaken." It's Loki's turn to keep his face as expressionless as possible, although he's not sure how well he's succeeding. "The Titan isn't like you; he doesn't want power, so there's nothing you could offer to share with him. What he craves is destruction – or rather, annihilation on a cosmic scale, not for any gain, but only because he considers it his mission. He doesn't have allies – if you come near him, you end up either under his command or dead."

Hela's smile is that of a shark smelling blood in the water. "So the fact that you're still alive to tell me this means – "

"– that I'm in the unique position of knowing exactly what the Nine are about to face." He refuses to let her perceptiveness unsettle him; he has known she is clever, after all. It will be up to him to prove that she's still not clever enough to best him, that he will be able to use her and not the other way around.

"And you think that freeing me will help you keep him away from Asgard." Loki doesn't react to the mocking undertone; he _meant_ for her to consider him a naive fool, after all.

"That is my hope, yes."

"Interesting." Hela takes a step closer. "Tell me, little brother, have you ever heard of the prophecies surrounding Ragnarök, the foretold end of all things?"

_Fire and ash and brimstone all around him, a huge column of flame rising up into the skies, tearing apart and consuming anything in its way – a creature of blazing death and destruction, bringing about the end of the world he knew in a fiery pyre for its monstrous queen –_

For a second, he sees Hela surrounded by green flames, deadly power flashing like blades from her fingertips. There's a shrill, jarring sound at the back of his mind that makes his bones vibrate and his teeth ache as he clenches his jaw in an attempt to push back against the intrusion.

_Wherever you go there is war, ruin and death…_

"It is said that you will be the one to bring it about, did you know that?" Hela's soft voice is dripping with false sympathy, and the sudden spike of anger Loki experiences at the insultingly transparent ploy dispels the strange vision.

"You can do better than that." There might very well be stories that tie him to predictions of Asgard's doom (after a millennium of rumors and whispers about Odin's ill-begotten second son, there's little in that regard which could still surprise him), but does she really think _that_ will manage to unnerve him?

"I wouldn't scoff at prophecies, little king," she shoots back. "If I am real, and so is Thanos, who can still say which stories are true and which aren't? Or do you truly believe that only you of all creatures can stray from the path the Norns chose for you? I am the Goddess of Death, and even I am not too proud to consider myself bound by my destiny. What were _you_ the God of again?"

Her triumphant grin dissolves first into astonishment, then anger when Loki starts to laugh.


	11. Chapter 11

_What were you the God of again?_

Ignoring Hela's darkening expression, Loki laughs until his sides hurt and he has to wipe tears of mirth from his eyes. Of all the taunts she could have thrown at him, she had to choose _that_ one?

When he finally gets his breath back, Hela is still glaring daggers at him, but he can sense her bewilderment underneath the anger – she has no way of understanding what was so funny about her jibe, no way of knowing that she unwittingly asked him a question he should have been asking himself the whole time.

For the first time since Gungnir came to his hand, or maybe even since the moment he saw his hand turn blue in a Frost Giant's grip, Loki feels like he has solid ground instead of quicksand under his feet again. The most basic truth about himself, as much a part of him as his heartbeat or his seiðr – had he truly forgotten who he _is_ underneath all the surfaces, what it is that lies at the heart of mischief, lies and trickery? For all that he has struggled with his transformation from a king's son to a monster's spawn, from prince to prisoner, from unwilling conqueror to reluctant ruler, it is in his nature to be ever-changing, to walk between worlds, to try on faces and shapes like others would try on clothes. Aesir prince or Jötun foundling, brother or enemy, Thanos' lieutenant or Asgard's king, beloved or accursed, reviled or revered, he is and will always remain _Loki_.

The fact that his murderous not-sister of all people should be the one to remind him is so absurd that Loki finds it utterly hilarious.

"It's hardly surprising that you would bow to destiny," he says once he trusts his voice not to shake with suppressed laughter any more. "You are Death, sister dearest, which makes you life's only unchangeable, inescapable certainty. I, however" – he takes a step towards her, and now it's Hela who is visibly struggling not to flinch from whatever it is she sees in his eyes – "I am _Chaos_ , so the Norns may find it a lot harder to keep me on the path they set out for me."

_Maybe Odin had it backwards when he feared me growing into your dark mirror, my deadly sibling – for it is in your reflection that I can finally see myself again._

Hugin lets out a loud caw next to Loki's ear; instead of startling him, the harsh sound leaves him with a flash of inspiration. Keeping his eyes on Hela who still seems to be searching for an answer, Loki reaches up as if to pet the raven while he tries to direct the image in his mind towards the bird's consciousness. Hugin not only understands his intent, but obeys with enthusiasm – instead of the small nip Loki envisioned, the raven's sharp beak slices a neat bit of flesh out of his finger. Darkly amused despite the sharp sting of pain, Loki holds Gungnir with both hands for a moment as if he were leaning on the spear. He lets go again as soon as the cut has healed, leaving a tiny smear of blood on Gungnir's shaft. Hela never notices a thing; Loki didn't start practicing sleight-of-hand when he was barely out of the nursery for nothing.

Now or never.

"I tire of waiting," he says when she remains stubbornly silent. "You have heard my proposition, and it's now time for you to decide."

"You honestly think you can break Odin's binding and get me out of here?" She's trying to come across as skeptical, but the eager undertone is hard to miss.

"I know that I can. You will need to touch Gungnir so I can take you with me when I break though the barrier he erected, but then you will be free of your prison." This is the crucial moment – will she believe that he's truly stupid enough to make such an offer in good faith, or will her intelligence outweigh her arrogance and warn her of the trap?

He gets his answer before she even speaks; the flash of triumph in her eyes tells him she has swallowed the bait. "Very well then, little king – you're right, even the most pathetic throne is better than a cage. Take me to Niflheim, and you'll have your ally against the Titan."

_Lying is one thing you didn't learn from your father, Odinsdottir._

With an inviting smile, Loki tilts the spear towards her in a way that makes sure she will grasp it exactly where he wants her to. "Then hold on and don't let go until we're out of here."

The thought _I'm not going to let go at all, idiot_ is all but written on her forehead even if she does her best not to sneer too obviously as her fingers close around Gungnir right over the drop of Loki's blood.

Ignoring her for the moment – he's safe enough until he has freed her – Loki extends his mind towards the Gems in his pocket dimension. The Tesseract awakens with a purr like a cat that's being petted, but the Aether all but growls at him when it feels his approach. Undaunted, Loki moves closer; you cannot force an Infinity Stone, but they can be persuaded if you hold firm, and he won't allow himself to be deterred. He doesn't push, merely keeps nudging gently, and once it seems to realize that Loki isn't going to leave it alone until he gets his way, the Aether relents with something akin to a long-suffering sigh.

As soon as it does, it's but the work of a moment to trace the blackish-blue mesh of Odin's magic that surrounds them like a hedge of thorns. It leaves a metallic aftertaste reminiscent of rust and blood in Loki's mouth when he pushes his own seiðr against it until, channeling the combined power of Space and Reality, he manages to rip the barrier open. Then, with a sound like an old garment coming apart at the seams, he tears through it.

He barely has time to register his new surroundings – a windswept, half-frozen plain covered in colorless grass, lit only by the murky twilight that filters through the fog covering the sky – before Hela, predictably, tries to yank Gungnir out of his grasp. She knows better than to lower herself to a physical tug-of-war – merely wrestling the spear away from him would be of no use to her as long as Gungnir recognizes Loki as the wielder of Asgard's magic. Instead, she's attempting to forcibly re-forge her old connection to the power she has commanded for centuries opposed to Loki's mere days, and for a heartbeat, Loki feels doubts creeping in. Has he misjudged the odds in this gamble? What if Gungnir does remember her and decides to side with the child of Odin's blood after all?

He doesn't allow the uncertainty to take hold. _I am Loki, King of Asgard, and you will not take away from me what is rightfully mine_. He can feel the answering pulse from Gungnir in his hands and wonders briefly whether Asgard's magic means to reassure him or to berate him for his lack of trust, although the latter should hardly come as a surprise to the essence of the realm that has, so far, given him little reason to trust her.

"You truly think _you_ have the power to bind me, little king?" Hela's sneering voice is filled with triumphant glee, now that she believes herself a mere step away from her victory and her revenge.

Loki's answering smile is grim. "Yes, I rather think I do." He lets his own seiðr push outwards through the spear and sends a burst of searing heat into her hands to mask the tingle of the spell he's weaving underneath it. Hela flinches, but doesn't let go.

"You don't even understand the forces you're trying to control, but you believe you can use them against me after I wielded them for longer than you've been alive?" He can hear the strain in her voice, and in her place, he would not disrupt his own concentration for the sake of spewing useless insults at his opponent. _There's a time to fight with words, sister, but this isn't it – which you would know if you hadn't turned your nose up at any way of fighting that doesn't involve the spilling of blood_.

The Tesseract's wild song has been at the back of his mind since their struggle began, and now Loki can hear the Aether's lower, darker hum join in. He's glad of the encouragement, but he doesn't need the Gems in this – he's aware of the power he masters, and he will not be parted from it no matter how hard Hela fights him for it.

_I do not lack conviction this time_. He fleetingly remembers the brave little Midgardian and wonders if he still breathes. Loki certainly aimed to give him a sporting chance, but mortal lives are so very fragile –

No time for idle thoughts now.

Hela's grip is beginning to weaken even though she is fighting tooth and nail to hold on, giving Loki the opening he needs to turn the tables. He doesn't have to speak the words of the spell, merely lets it flow through the connection forged by his blood until it covers Hela in a net woven of Asgard's magic and Loki's own seiðr. When she finally notices, it's too late; she lets go of Gungnir with a furious shriek and tries to extricate herself, but to no avail. The net tethers itself to the ground and, like a bramble putting down roots to grow into an impenetrable thicket of thorns, sinks deep into the soil of the realm that will become both Hela's kingdom and her new prison.

Lowering the spear, Loki lifts his free hand which is now glowing greenish-gold, and _pulls._ Hela's eyes widen as she feels invisible ropes tightening around her until they melt into her skin with a blinding flash of power that sends her tumbling to the ground.

She's on her feet again in no time, but the working is complete, and even though she keeps her head high and her hands clenched into fists, Loki can see that she knows she has lost this round.

_It's quite a bit more than just that, sister, and you're about to find out._

"Feel better now that you've got it out of your system?" he asks mildly and allows himself to enjoy the hateful glare she shoots him before he turns serious. "That was as predictable as it was unwise; I would not try anything like that again in future if I were you."

"I'm going to kill you, you miserable little impostor – I will take back what's mine if it's the last thing I do!" She's all but spitting with rage, but Loki waves her threats aside.

"That would indeed be the case if you ever succeeded – I will uphold our bargain, your little tantrum notwithstanding, but let me warn you that you will find the terms of your binding somewhat changed if you actually manage to turn against me." He flashes her the smug grin that Sif once described as 'a desperate plea to get punched in the face' when he continues, "You said you could wait for the death of another king of Asgard, did you not? I am not Odin, dear sister, and therefore I'm not going to leave such a loophole for you to exploit."

"So my binding is no longer tied to the life force of the king?" Is that a hint of hopefulness in her question? Loki isn't sure whether to be amused or annoyed – he has her utterly at his mercy, and she _still_ underestimates him?

He finds he is getting tired of this game. "No – it is tied to mine. Oh, don't get excited," he snaps when he sees her eyes light up. "That doesn't mean you'll be free when I die, it means you'll be dead."

"What?" Her incredulous tone gives Loki no small amount of satisfaction. _Are you finally beginning to understand who you're dealing with, Goddess of Death? Trying to predict my actions has ever been a dangerous endeavor_.

"You heard me – if Loki dies, so does Hela, and it won't matter whether I die in my bed or at the hands of a foe you sent my way." He steps towards her, and this time she _does_ back away. "Yes, sister, I have reason to fear the Titan. So do you, for my death means yours. Think on that before you try to strike a bargain with him he would never keep anyway."

"You _bastard_." She's apparently too livid to come up with a better insult.

Loki just shrugs. "I expect that I will have more important things to do than to worry about the line of succession in the foreseeable future, and I won't have it backfiring the way it almost did for Odin. He took the risk because he couldn't bring himself to kill you. I assure you I will have no such qualms if you ever give me reason to consider you a threat. Do we understand each other?"

The look she gives him is still filled with hatred, but it's laced with something that might almost be – respect?

"Very well, _brother_." It is downright impressive how much loathing she can pack into a single word. "Then, by your leave, I'll make myself at home in my sorry excuse for a realm, shall I?"

Loki doesn't grace the bitter sarcasm with a reaction. There's no way to predict whether this 'alliance' will actually prove helpful once they have to face Thanos, but if Niflheim is one realm the Black Order can't overrun thanks to Hela's sense of self-preservation, it means one less foothold on Yggdrasil's branches for the Titan in his quest for the Gems. It's a long shot, but Loki figures he has to start somewhere if he truly wants to pursue the idea of trying to rally the Nine against their common enemy.

"You do that, Queen of Niflheim; I will be keeping an eye on you."

With that, he turns to leave. The ravens have disappeared when he opened Hela's cage – they know how to return to Asgard without him, and Loki doesn't need them to make his own way back from Niflheim. He could always use the Tesseract, but he doesn't want to neglect his own skills too much; it has been a while since he last walked the Secret Paths between the two realms, but he's certain he can still find the way.

He has only taken a few steps when Hela's voice stops him in his tracks. "Will you return my hammer to me now that the Thunderer is dead?"

Loki takes a deep breath, but he can't bring himself to turn and face her again. Of course he noticed Mjölnir in her hand in that gruesome fresco of Asgard's bloody past, but he has been very careful until now not to let his thoughts stray in that direction – he doesn't want to ponder the fact that Odin had the hammer forged for a woman who revels in destruction and bloodshed, yet Loki would never have been considered worthy of lifting her during the Allfather's lifetime. And then to wrench Mjölnir out of his firstborn's grasp to replace her with another child to wield the hammer, Asgard's golden son who would never learn his beloved weapon's gruesome history –

"The hammer is Thor's," he snaps back over his shoulder and then strides away before she can get another word in.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick update to make up for the fact that the next one will take longer because I'll be traveling. In the meantime, Loki will have to do a bit of actual ruling after all the family drama…

Loki steps out of the space between worlds in his study, where he finds Frigga sitting in a chair by the fireplace, although she immediately springs to her feet when he appears next to her.

"Loki!"

"My apologies for startling you, Allmother, I wasn't expecting you here." Strictly speaking, she shouldn't be here at all – not only because not even the queen dowager is supposed to enter the king's rooms without his permission, but also because she had to dismantle the wards he put up around his quarters to even get in here. However, considering how he barged into her bedroom last night, Loki figures he's not in a position to take exception to her intrusion.

Frigga exhales loudly; it's only now that Loki notices how pale she is. "I told the councilors I had urgent matters to discuss with you, and that the meeting would have to wait until we were done. Loki, I've been worried sick – you were gone for hours!"

Loki bites his lip to keep himself from cursing under his breath; it has completely slipped his mind that there's a council meeting – the first meeting of the Privy Council since his coronation – scheduled for today. He's more unsettled by his encounter with Hela than he cares to admit, and the last thing he needs right now is having to deal with a roomful of Odin's most trusted advisors who tend to disagree on pretty much everything but their dislike for their new king. Postponing the meeting without a compelling reason is not an option, though – he might as well open his veins in shark-infested waters, given how eagerly most of Odin's old guard seem to wait for any kind of weakness he might show. He has prepared for the meeting, of course, but the conversation (if you can call it that) with Odin's eldest child has rendered most of his preparations moot. If –

His thoughts are interrupted by Frigga's hand on his arm. "Can you tell me what happened? Did you manage to find…"

"…Hela Odinsdottir?" he finishes when she seems hesitant to actually speak of her forgotten – no, _erased_ – stepdaughter. "I did, and I made sure she won't become a threat."

Frigga flinches so visibly that it gives Loki pause for a moment before he understands what she seems to be thinking. It stings, but he hides it under an exasperated eyeroll. "I didn't _kill_ her, if that's what you're worrying about."

"Oh." The Allmother hesitates, but then presses on, "I – I'm glad, my son. Did you… talk to her?"

When Loki merely nods without volunteering any details, she asks, sounding even more hesitant than before, "How – what is she like?"

Loki shrugs. "Pretty much what I would be like if I had spent a millennium in solitary confinement."

Frigga looks away. Loki refuses to let her pinched expression guilt him into mitigating the harsh assessment; they both know that he would have shared Hela's fate if Odin had had his way, and that Frigga would not have defied the Allfather openly for the sake of her cuckoo child, even if she might have tried to soften the blow a little behind Odin's back.

_You would have made my prison more comfortable than hers, Amma, but a gilded cage is still a cage._

At long last, Frigga breaks the uncomfortable silence. "Do you think that I might… meet her one day?"

"Absolutely not." Loki didn't mean to rebuff her quite so vehemently, but now that he has slipped up, he knows she won't leave the matter alone until he has given her an explanation for his visceral reaction even if he'd rather spare her this particular truth. "Mother, Odin locked her away and tried to purge the Nine of her memory right before he married you, so –"

Her eyes widen with obvious horror. "She thinks Odin cast her out because of _me_?"

Loki doesn't reply; he doesn't need to since the answer is obvious enough. There's no denying that Odin likely _did_ rid himself of Hela for his bride's sake, and Loki doubts that the fact Frigga didn't know would make any difference to the Allfather's firstborn.

Frigga looks absolutely stricken, but since there's nothing to be done more than a millennium after the fact, Loki thinks it best to leave the past where it belongs and focus on the present. "I don't think we should keep the councilors waiting any longer. Are you going to attend?"

"Of course I am." He can't help being impressed by the way Frigga pulls her queenly poise around her as if she were donning a cloak to cover old wounds and still-bleeding cuts alike. "You're right, my son, they have waited long enough."

By tradition, the queen is present during full council meetings although she merely listens and doesn't join in the discussion. There hasn't been a queen dowager in Asgard in living memory, though, so there's no protocol to follow, and Loki half expected that Frigga would offer not to attend the first council meeting of his reign 'for appearances' sake'. He appreciates that she didn't, that she doesn't act like he's a half-grown boy who still needs to prove that he isn't clinging to his mother's skirts any longer.

There's no time for him to get changed, so he casts an illusion of dark green state robes – somber enough to pass for mourning garb although they look almost gaudy next to the deep black of Frigga's widow's weeds – over himself and summons Gungnir from his dimensional pocket.

The Allmother's soft little smile when he offers her his arm feels like a glimpse behind the mask of royal dignity, but Loki is careful not to dwell on it; he knows the fight against Hela will not be the only one he'll have to win today, and he can't afford any distractions when he's facing Odin's council.

+++

"I am not going to waste time on pretty speeches." Loki looks around the table at the twelve men who are watching him with varying degrees of apprehension or, in some cases, open hostility. Frigga, sitting across from the king's seat at the far end of the table, keeps her eyes demurely lowered. "All of you have served on King Odin's council for many years, and none of you expected to find yourself on mine. I'm therefore offering you a choice: if you find that you can't or won't counsel King Loki, get up from this table and leave; I will release you from your duties with no repercussions or ill will on my part. If you stay, however, I expect you to serve me as faithfully and loyally as you served my predecessor, and anyone who fails to do so will face the king's justice as a traitor to the realm."

_Chains looping from his neck to his wrists, the shackles around his ankles jangling with every step he takes towards the throne from which Odin is glowering at him, face a mask of contempt –_

The unexpected image is gone again with the next blink of Loki's eyes, but it's disconcerting enough to make the last words of his prepared opening statement come out harsher than he intended. "You have seven heartbeats to decide."

A part of him is morbidly curious whether he'll find himself alone with Frigga in a few moments, although he doesn't realistically expect all of them to walk out – they are very fond of their prestigious positions on the council, and some may be willing to put up with Loki as their king to keep it. Others, however…

The first to shove back his chair is Lord Forseti, who had been on the Allfather's council since the day of Odin's coronation; he gets up, bows stiffly and stalks out of the room. This one is no surprise, and neither is Lord Njörd who follows. Loki raises an eyebrow when Lord Bragi rises with an almost apologetic expression; Bragi is Sif's uncle, and given her new position as well as her somewhat chequered relationship with the man who is now Asgard's king, Loki would have expected Bragi to try and back up his niece by remaining on the king's council. Apparently not being able to rely on one's family is a common theme among Asgard's noble houses.

Last to leave is Lord Ullr, Asgard's leading diplomat, whose intelligence Loki has always ranked slightly below that of a moldy piece of cheese. Loki is relieved to see him go; smart enemies may be more troublesome than stupid ones, but he finds dealing with idiots far more exhausting than staying ahead of a clever adversary.

That leaves him with eight stony-faced councilors and four empty seats – fewer than he expected, actually, although Loki doesn't believe even for a second that those who chose to remain won't stab him in the back if they think they can get away with it. That is a headache for another day, though, and it's downright comforting to find himself back in the midst of the familiar machinations and power struggles that pass for politics in the golden halls of Odin's palace – or rather, _Loki's_ palace, although the idea still feels jarringly wrong. Still, he's well used to the concerns of day-to-day government; as a prince of Asgard, he had his fair share of administrative duties – far more than the crown prince, in fact, since Loki was less known for shirking tedious tasks in favor of running off to play the hero.

Loki signals to the two Einherjar who stand guard at the door. "One of you, go to the Observatory, relieve the gatekeeper and bid her come here at once. The other, summon General Tyr, Lady Irpa and Lady Gullveig."

He takes great pleasure from the looks of badly veiled irritation his order causes among the remaining councilors. There will be little opposition to having Tyr on the council, but there haven't been more than a handful of female councilors in the entire history of Asgard, and nominating three women at once will certainly be considered an outrage. Besides, while Lady Irpa – Ullr's assistant of many years – is hardly objectionable as a person, Gullveig is the eldest of the Volur, the congregation of Asgard's sorceresses, and it isn't hard to guess how Odin's old councilors feel about having a witch among their ranks. Loki hasn't always found Gullveig easy to deal with, but he'll happily put up with an ill-tempered crone for the sake of the signal her presence on the council will send to the entirety of Asgard.

Once the Einherjar have left, Loki makes a show of busying himself with the papers in front of him, leaving the councilors to fidget around in their seats and share surreptitious glances among themselves in the awkward silence. Watching their discomfort grow as the minutes pass by does wonders for his own nerves; by the time Sif is the first to step through the door, Loki feels almost at ease.

"My king?"

"Have a seat, Lady Sif; I hereby appoint you as a member of my Privy Council. I will not call you away from your duties too often, but as Asgard's gatekeeper, your voice should be heard when it comes to matters that concern the whole realm."

Sif's golden eyes widen, but she is apparently left speechless; after a moment, she merely bows again and takes the seat Loki indicates. Tyr is next, and seems far less surprised by the appointment; Lady Irpa, on the other hand, goes pale and then blushes up to the roots of her wheat-blond hair when Loki informs her that she is to replace Ullr both on the council and as the head of Asgard's diplomatic body (although it barely deserves the name at the moment).

"My king, I – I am deeply honored, but I am entirely undeserving of such an exalted position…"

Loki waves her objections aside. Irpa's self-confidence may not be up to par with her quick wit and vast experience, but he has watched her excel at the thankless job of cleaning up Ullr's diplomatic messes for centuries, and aside from a pronounced feeling of kinship, his observations have also left him with the conviction that she is exactly the right person for the role he has in mind for her. With her slight build and her open, winning smile, she's easy to underestimate, which Loki has always considered an extremely useful feature in the field of diplomacy.

Lady Gullveig is last to arrive, which is hardly surprising considering her age, but Loki isn't fooled by the outward look of frailty. He has seen her wrinkled, claw-like hands wield forces that few other mages would have dared to touch, and no matter how feeble and wizened she may appear, her mind is still as sharp as her tongue.

She bows with some difficulty (leaving Loki halfway convinced that he actually heard her joints creak), but then immediately dispels any illusion of deference by stating, "It's not every day one gets to see a king dressed in spells."

Loki suppresses a grin; of course she of all people would be able to see through the hastily cast glamour he's wearing. "I'm hardly naked underneath, Lady Gullveig."

"A pity, really," she shoots back with a shameless wink, causing scandalized mutters all around that only die down when Loki starts to laugh.

"Will you accept a seat on my council, Lady Gullveig? Asgard's kings have gone without the advice of the Volur for far too long."

"For longer than even I can remember, Asgard hasn't had a king who would have listened to our advice," she replies gravely, her earlier mirth forgotten. "It will be my honor to serve on your council, Loki Spell-Weaver, and may the Norns bless your reign."

Loki inclines his head, touched despite himself; he knows the Volur have self-serving reasons for supporting a mage on the throne, but her respect for his magic is still a welcome change from the way most of Asgard has always dismissed his gift.

_Some do battle, others just do tricks –_

Shaking his head once to clear it, Loki leans back in his seat and gathers his thoughts; this is the point where he will have to deviate from his original plan for this meeting because his discovery of Hela has led him to a realization with far-reaching consequences.

He is surrounded by people who are, for the most part, convinced that he will never manage to live up to Odin's legacy, that he is bound to fail in every attempt to follow Odin's shining example because it is not in his nature to ever become the kind of ruler the Allfather was.

Odin would have been the first to agree. Loki has come to understand that so should he.

He will never be Odin because he is _Loki_ , and instead of trying – and failing – to turn himself into a copy of the man he once considered his father, he has chosen to learn from Odin's mistakes.

He remembers coming across, through the mind of his Hawk, a peculiar piece of Midgardian wisdom which claims that the best revenge is to live well. He liked it purely for the fact that it goes against the grain of everything Asgard believes in, but if the idea actually has merit, then the best way to take vengeance on a king must be to become a better ruler than he ever was by not repeating the blunders he committed.

Loki may not be fond of the title 'God of Lies', but it is still well-earned, and a master liar knows that lies are most effective when used sparingly; that you should work with the truth whenever possible in order for your lies to be believed. He has come to realize that the same principle applies to secrets – keeping key pieces of knowledge to yourself can be crucial, but the mess Loki inherited from Odin has shown him the consequences of trying to turn _everything_ into a secret and regarding the truth as an enemy that must be kept at bay at all costs. To Loki, the truth has always been a tool to be forged into the most serviceable shape, and only when it failed him would he help it along with a well-placed lie or a piece of strategically withheld information.

"There is a matter of grave importance we need to discuss," he finally begins. "Last night, I went to observe the Convergence from Hliðskjálf's seat, but the Sight also showed me something else."

He doesn't miss the way Frigga stiffens, and he is careful not to meet her eyes when he continues. "A foe approaches who will bring about Asgard's doom if we cannot find ways to defend ourselves."

Every word he said is true, and also carefully placed to lead the councilors to the wrong conclusions. He has the council's full, wide-eyed attention now; pushing through the dread that sits like a cold, hard lump in the pit of his stomach, he takes a deep breath and forces himself to keep speaking.

"Thanos is moving against the Nine."


	13. Chapter 13

_"Thanos is moving against the Nine."_

Loki's announcement is met with dead silence. It's obvious that the name (has he ever actually spoken the Titan's name before? Loki finds he doesn't like to ponder the question) means nothing to most of the younger councilors, although Lady Irpa frowns as if she were trying to remember something. The older men around the table look disquieted, and Lady Gullveig has gone very pale.

So, Loki notices with a pang, has Frigga.

General Tyr is the first to find his voice again. "These days, most believe the Mad Titan to be a myth."

"He isn't." Loki appreciates Gullveig's visible attempt to remain calm, although it doesn't help his own nerves to see the effort it's costing her. "It has been an age since he was last heard of in Asgard, but the Volur always knew it was only distance that kept us out of his path of destruction."

_Distance doesn't matter to him who wields the Space Stone_ , Loki can't help thinking; he will never forget the moment when he understood Thanos' reason for sending Loki to Midgard to retrieve the Tesseract, when he realized that he would have to find a way to thwart the Titan's plans with a mind that was only half his own. He'd thought that he knew fear before, but this moment had taught him otherwise.

Still, he doesn't fool himself into believing that Thanos won't find other ways to reach the Nine – the fact that Loki has managed to keep the Tesseract from him might slow him down, but there's no telling how much of a reprieve it has actually bought them, so they have no time to lose. And if the Titan should manage to get his hands on even one of the other Stones…

_Like calls to like._

If he allows even one Infinity Gem to fall into Thanos' hands, the two in Loki's possession could lead the Titan straight to him. Asgard's magic on top of Loki's own seiðr might just be enough to shield the Tesseract and the Aether from Thanos' perception, but again, there's no way for Loki to be sure.

Lady Irpa's hesitant voice pulls him out of his thoughts. "There are stories on Vanaheim and Alfheim – of a mad warlord descended from an immortal people, who destroyed his own home world and glories in death and destruction wherever he goes…"

Several councilors speak up at once; Loki doesn't do anything to interrupt the ensuing argument until General Tyr cuts through the squabble. "My king, how do you know of this?"

Loki is aware that he needs to tread very carefully now. There was no challenge in Tyr's tone, and the question he asked is perfectly valid, especially from the leader of Asgard's army who will need all the tactical information he can get. Still –

"I saw him." Loki keeps his answer simple; the more gaps he leaves for them to fill with their own assumptions, the fewer actual lies he will have to tell them. "I came across him entirely by accident, but I saw enough to know that we need to be prepared to fight him."

Of course, they now all think it was the throne that showed him the Titan even though he never said it outright, which was precisely Loki's intention.

"Could Hliðskjálf show you more if you tried to look for him?" Tyr sounds entirely businesslike, a general assessing his options, so Loki keeps his reply just as matter-of-factly.

"That's not a risk I'm willing to take. Lady Gullveig, would you explain to the council how scrying works?"

The old volva has been shaking her head since Tyr asked his question. "I agree, my king, the risk of drawing his attention that way is far too great. General Tyr, the scrying bowl, or any other object used for the same purpose, acts as a focus for the mage's sight so it may be directed elsewhere – a window, if you will, into another place, but if the one you're watching is skilled as well, he might look back at you through the connection you created."

Loki nods gravely in spite of the fact that Hliðskjálf's Sight is nothing like scrying – the throne is not a focus, but rather resembles the eyes of Asgard's gatekeeper, whose Sight also can't be turned back on the watcher by the one who is being watched. The only other person in Asgard who could have known that was Odin, though, so there's no way anyone could guess at the real reason why Loki must never look at Thanos from the throne – because even though the Titan can no longer reach his mind, the imprint of his touch remains, which means a very real danger that Loki himself might become the focus that would allow Thanos to see him as well.

Tyr makes a face, but before he can say anything, Sif speaks up. "What about me? Can I look for him?"

"I'm relying on you to do so, Gatekeeper." Loki doesn't have to feign the seriousness of his tone. "Your eyes are our greatest assets when it comes to keeping us aware of the Titan's movements."

Sif pales a little. "My king, it will be some time until I have truly mastered my Sight, but I will work on it as hard as I can. However, if I may ask a question…?"

Loki nods, fleetingly amused by the way Sif keeps tiptoeing around him as if she still weren't convinced he won't suddenly reconsider his decision not to get back at her after all. He's pretty sure he knows which question she's going to ask, but she already gave him the opening that will allow him to dodge it.

"When we spoke yesterday" – Norns, has it really only been yesterday? Somehow, the confrontation with Hela seems to have left Loki with no sense of time at all – "you told me to look between and beyond the realms because Asgard would have to face dangerous foes. Had you already –"

"I'm afraid," Loki cuts in with a self-deprecating smile meant to distract from the fact that he didn't let her finish her question, "you're not the only one who is still learning how to master a new power, and it will likely take me a while as well until my control of the throne's Sight is firm enough to always give me a clear image, not just a vague impression."

Sif nods without asking further; her easy acceptance of Loki's non-answer confirms that he guessed correctly at her own experience with her new abilities.

"But you _are_ certain that Thanos is approaching." Tyr doesn't exactly sound dubious, but Loki still holds his gaze with the sternest expression he can muster when he replies, "I am."

"Is there any way to tell why he would attack us? He must have some kind of goal in order to begin a war against all of Yggdrasil."

It's a question Loki knew he would be asked sooner or later, and he has gone back and forth on the issue whether he should answer it truthfully or not. In the end, though, caution won out – if he tells even a single person about the Titan's quest for the Infinity Stones, word _will_ eventually get out, and once it does, there'll be no way to stop it from spreading short of taking a page out of Odin's book and starting to sacrifice body parts. It might be easier to keep the Gems safe if more people are actively trying to protect them, but calling attention to the source of unimaginable power in their midst will also attract those who want the Gems for themselves, or who will (foolishly) expect Thanos to reward them for bringing them to him.

Once the Titan actually reaches the Nine, it will probably become clear what he's after, but until then, Loki isn't going to draw in every renegade with a taste for world domination from the entire galaxy.

He briefly wonders whether Thor would appreciate the irony.

"What is the goal of a thunderstorm, General? Have you ever asked an earthquake or a volcano why they would destroy everything in their vicinity? There isn't much information to be found on the Mad Titan, but everything I read confirmed that he has never been known to conquer or plunder, he merely seeks to mete out ruin and death wherever he goes. We should no more hope to be able to reason or bargain with him than we would with a mindless force of nature; we need to prepare ourselves and the Nine to stand against him."

Tyr's eyebrows shoot up, but he isn't the only one to appear baffled – all around the table, Loki can see similar expressions, especially on the faces of Odin's old guard. He knows exactly what has them so shocked; it's the reason he said it, after all.

"My king, you want Asgard to prepare... the _other_ realms for the fight against Thanos as well?"

Loki steeples his fingers and leans back in his seat. "I think it's the only way to stop him, yes." Ignoring the indignant muttering all around, he continues, "I swore an oath to protect the Nine at my coronation, and I intend to keep it. My predecessors believed that protection equals subjugation, and we are now reaping what they sowed as we find ourselves standing alone against a terrible enemy while we're surrounded by those who would welcome our downfall. We cannot fight Thanos while we're struggling to keep the rest of Yggdrasil under our heel. If Asgard is to survive the Titan's attack, we need reliable allies, not tenuously controlled subjects."

"I would say that first and foremost, we need to strengthen our armies," Tyr objects, but he seems more thoughtful than Loki would have expected. If he can get the old warrior on his side, he is certain the others will eventually fall in line as well.

"You already know that I wholeheartedly agree with you, General, but we are both aware that it won't be enough if the other realms see Thanos' approach as a chance to free themselves from Asgard's hold over them. We will need to make them see that he is as much a threat to them as he is to us, that it is in everyone's best interest to stand together against a common foe, but we won't be able to do that if we're trying to keep them under our yoke at the same time."

It would be like asking a prisoner to fight by your side and promising him no other reward than being locked up again afterwards, would it? Loki has no idea how _that_ absurd comparison popped up in his mind, but Odin's former chancellor distracts him before he can ponder it further.

"And who says they won't agree to get rid of our rule and then stab us in the back while we're under attack from this... Titan?" Loki raises an eyebrow at the old man's belligerent tone, but doesn't allow himself to be goaded.

"Possible betrayal is preferable to certain defeat," he replies mildly, unwittingly repeating his own realization during his conversation with Hela. "It's also considerably easier to prevent if you keep your wits about you, and I daresay I have some experience in that regard."

He greatly enjoys the scandalized looks his remark earns him. Apparently they needed the reminder that he will remain who he is even if he sits on Asgard's throne, and that he isn't planning to ever pretend otherwise.

"My king..." Lady Irpa still seems reluctant to speak, but at Loki's nod, she presses on, "It will be no small task to convince the other realms that our offer of alliance is genuine and not just born out of need."

Silently congratulating himself on his decision to put her on the council, Loki nods again. "I would go even further and say it will be impossible, Lady Irpa, since the offer _is_ born out of need, and we cannot hope to forge lasting alliances if we try to base them on lies. On the contrary, we will have to be entirely truthful about the threat we're all facing in order to convince them that it's in their own best interest to fight by our side. Yes, I'm aware of the irony," he adds with a smirk when he sees the looks some of the older councilors are exchanging, "but you may trust that I know better than anyone else in this room when it is advisable _not_ to lie."

Frigga's flinch is barely perceptible, but Loki still notices it – he didn't mean his words as a barb against her, but he finds he isn't sorry that she took them as such.

"I believe we are all agreed that we need to make every effort to strengthen our defenses, and I already charged General Tyr with overseeing this task. However, we need to be realistic enough to admit that we might be facing a fight we can't win on our own. Oh, spare me the outrage!" he cuts off the rise of angry murmurs; he has neither the time nor the patience for another bullheaded display of Aesir pride that is as predictable as it is empty. "You all saw where our blind belief in our own superiority has gotten us. We couldn't even defend ourselves against a bunch of Svartálfar brigands, and you believe we stand a chance against a destroyer of worlds?"

_How do you like hearing me speak truth to you for a change, Lords of Asgard?_

Loki takes a deep, calming breath and turns to address Lady Irpa, who is watching him with a mix of wariness and curiosity. "In order to forge alliances, Asgard will need diplomats, not just warriors. Our current diplomatic body barely deserves the name, but if we're to convince the other realms to stand with us, we must have a considerable number of capable, reliable ambassadors. I'm willing to involve myself as much as possible in any negotiations, but even I can't be everywhere at once."

"That's not what I heard," Gullveig mutters under her breath, low enough for Loki to ignore it although his lips quirk up for a moment.

"Therefore, Lady Irpa, I will entrust you with the task of choosing suitable candidates and preparing them for their new duties as quickly and thoroughly as possible. I believe you are already training several aspiring diplomats, are you not?"

"Yes, my king, and I know of a number of others who have expressed interest in such a calling, but – the vast majority of them are women."

Loki shrugs. "So?" It hardly comes as a surprise – few Aesir men would be willing to forgo a warrior's life for the far less glorious work of fighting with words instead of weapons, which is why Asgard's male ambassadors tend to be either too old or otherwise unfit to bear arms. As far as Asgard is concerned, the only occupation even further beneath the dignity of an able-bodied man than diplomacy is magic – and no one is more aware of it than Loki with his talent for both.

Irpa clears her throat. "Lord Ullr insisted that women could only ever serve as diplomatic aides, but must not be allowed to be ambassadors themselves. He claimed it would reflect poorly on Asgard if the Realm Eternal were to be represented by a woman."

"Is that so." Loki's dry tone expresses what he thinks of Lord Ullr's opinion just as eloquently as Sif's eyeroll and Gullveig's long-suffering sigh. Frigga keeps her face carefully blank, and Loki fleetingly wonders what she used to make of the fact that a man of such convictions was allowed on her husband's council.

"Indeed, my king." Lady Irpa is apparently well-versed in the art of letting her stony expression speak for her as well.

Loki rubs the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, suddenly feeling the full impact of the sleep he missed last night. "The day we have leisure to concern ourselves with an issue like _that_ , Lady Irpa, we should all consider ourselves very lucky indeed."

+++

Loki closes his eyes for a moment when the councilors have finally shuffled out; he feels like he has spent a full day in the stuffy meeting room and very little to show for it aside from a pounding headache and a throat that's raw from too much pointless talk.

He knew going in he wasn't going to get much support from the majority of his councilors, and he doesn't doubt his ability to work around them if he has to, but he might have underestimated just how _annoying_ a bunch of stuck-up old men can be when faced with the realization that their world is changing whether they like it or not.

Well. It's not like Loki doesn't also know a thing or two about being annoying.

He opens his eyes again and bites back a groan when he finds that Frigga hasn't left with the councilors. The list of things he _doesn't_ want to discuss with her right now is too long to contemplate, but he doesn't have it in him to dismiss her outright either.

"Was there something else, Allmother?"

"Loki," – he finds himself grateful that she isn't going to play the formal game again – "I think I understand what you're trying to do, but I can't help worrying that..."

She falters when Loki merely raises an eyebrow. _Doubting me again so soon, Mother? Apparently some things do not change after all._

"Yes?"

When Frigga continues, Loki is certain she isn't saying what she was planning to a moment ago. "Forging an alliance between all the realms of Yggdrasil seems like an impossible task."

_Tell me something I don't know, Mother – believe me, if I could see another way out, I would take it in a heartbeat._

Careful not to let her guess at his thoughts, Loki shrugs with an outward show of nonchalance. "I've pulled off a few of those in the past."

She doesn't react to his flippancy; instead, she simply asks, "Can we talk in private?"

Loki shrugs again. "As you wish." With a snap of his fingers, he casts a spell that won't let any word they speak travel outside the magical bubble he has created around the two of them. There's an indignant caw from the rafters where Hugin and Munin have spent the council meeting; Loki allows himself a small smile that disappears immediately when Frigga rises from her chair at the far end of the table and takes the empty seat next to him.

"There's something you're not telling us."

There's no accusation in her tone, but her words still put Loki on the defensive. "That's the king's prerogative, is it not?"

She merely inclines her head in acknowledgement without taking the bait; instead, she changes tack.

"Odin had millennia of practice when it came to Hliðskjálf's Sight, yet he never saw Thanos."

"You mean he never _spoke_ of seeing him." It's something that Loki has pondered more often than he probably should have because it's ultimately pointless, and yet he can't help wondering whether Odin truly never saw the Titan moving through his distant corner of the universe like a reaper through a cornfield, or whether he did see him and just didn't believe that the matter was of any concern to the Golden Realm.

_And when Thanos found the stolen relic Odin had discarded..._ Loki cuts off the thought before it can take him any further; he knows only too well what lies down that particular path.

Frigga doesn't allow herself to be sidetracked. "You didn't see Thanos from Hliðskjálf, did you?"

Loki holds her questioning gaze without flinching; of course she of all people would see through his obfuscation, but it takes a lot more than his mother's stern look these days to unnerve him. "I never said I did."

"Loki, my son." Loki feels his insides go cold when Frigga reaches for his hand. "What happened to you after you fell from the Bifröst?"

Loki recoils from the sudden flood of images in his mind as if he were slamming the door of a steel cage shut before the beast trapped inside can escape. The Allmother plays her hand well – for a moment, the temptation becomes almost overwhelming to let her pull him into her arms and lose himself in the familiar illusion of safety and care, to make her draw the poisonous memories out of him like pus from a festering wound, to pretend for just a little while that things can ever be like they were before his world fell apart and Thanos picked the shards that were left out of the Void.

He knows better than to give in, though – for those are a child's fantasies, and if there's anything Loki left behind for good on Sanctuary, it was every last shred of his childhood.

Gently freeing his fingers from her grasp, Loki rises from his seat and says softly, his eyes never leaving Frigga's, "It's a little late to ask me that, don't you think?"

He gives her a curt, polite bow and walks out of the room before she can reply.

It's only later, when he's at the desk in his study and absentmindedly rubs his knuckles against his sternum, where the phantom pain of a wound that never was has flared up again, that he realizes he and Frigga haven't had a private moment between themselves without any pressing matters they needed to discuss right away ever since he returned to Asgard.

Why, then, does it still feel like she should have asked him that particular question a long time ago?

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are like me and get the gazillion WIPs you're following confused sometimes – here's a reminder that this story features Endgame!Loki, who exited stage left with the Tesseract before he could be taken back to Asgard after the Battle of New York. Therefore, none of the MCU events after the first "Avengers" movie have happened to Loki in this timeline, his inexplicable visions notwithstanding...

With a twist of his hand, Loki makes the doors at the far end of the audience hall fall shut, thus cutting off the hushed voices of the delegates from Nidavellir who are still arguing among themselves even as they're ushered out of the antechamber by a harried-looking Lady Irpa. The two Einherjar flanking the doors (whose sole duty consists of opening and closing them at the king's command) shoot him sour looks, but right now Loki can't be bothered with the delicate sensibilities of the royal guard. He slumps back in his seat and presses two fingers between his eyebrows, willing his developing headache away.

It's not that he expected negotiations with the Dwarves to be easy – they have never been fond of Loki, and the feeling is entirely mutual, but Nidavellir has been clamoring for stronger protection from Asgard for ages, so one would assume they would at least be a little less petty in their internal rivalries given what they now know is at stake. This has only been the fourth of eight planned meetings (and the first one in Loki's presence), but he can already tell it is going to take a lot more than that to hammer out an agreement which all the clans under King Eitri's rule might actually be willing to accept. _I commend your ironclad patience, Lady Irpa – I would probably have slit their throats by now if I were in your place._

Sighing, Loki rises from his seat and climbs down the steps of the dais which traditionally serves the purpose of reminding those who are granted the privilege of a royal audience of their proper place, although Loki has to wonder what kind of effect it's supposed to have on races like the Dwarves who stand a good two heads taller than the average Aesir. Perhaps Odin just hated being the shortest person in the room? Suppressing a snicker at the thought, Loki snaps his fingers to open the hidden entrance to his study – unguarded since it only responds to his magic – and enjoys the baleful glares of the Einherjar he can feel on his back as he steps out of the audience hall and into the blessed solitude of a triple-warded room that awaits him.

When the narrow door shimmers closed behind him, though, he finds Hugin and Munin engaged in what looks like a pecking match on Loki's desk. They jump apart once they notice him, although Munin can't resist a last jab towards his brother before he withdraws with a caw that sounds even harsher than usual. In a flutter of ruffled feathers, the two birds take flight and retreat to the rafters, although they choose opposite corners of the room and keep glaring at each other.

Loki isn't sure what to make of this strange behavior. For as long as he has known the ravens, he has never seen them at odds; they always appear as a unified front (never more so than in their shared dislike for him) whether they're grudgingly carrying out his orders or merely watching him like the tireless little spies they are – granted, _his_ spies now, although Loki still isn't entirely convinced of their loyalty and usually double-checks their reports (preferably in his magpie shape since it annoys them to no end). They still haven't forgiven him for banning them from his bedchamber, either, but no matter how useful they may be, Loki draws the line at having their unblinking stares fixed on his bed at night like they used to watch over the Allfather's unmoving body as he lay in the Odinsleep.

With a shrug, he dismisses the flying pests and focuses on the work that awaits him on his desk. There's a pile of books, their titles carefully hidden under a glamour, which he filched from the library last night under the cover of an invisibility spell. He could just have sent for them, of course, but since his choices might have raised a lot of questions among the librarians, he preferred the less obvious route and even left illusionary duplicates in place although he considers it highly unlikely that anyone but him will ever wish to read these particular tomes. They will have to wait, though; first and foremost, he needs to go over the rather peculiar missive which was delivered this morning by a courier the Palace Guard described as "very nervous and somewhat Elvish-looking".

Yet he doesn't even get the chance to break the seal before he's interrupted by a knock on the door. At a wave of his hand, the wood turns transparent and shows him Frigga standing outside. Loki sighs again, slides the parchment into a drawer and opens the door with another snap of his fingers.

Frigga hesitates on the threshold when she sees him sitting at his desk. "Am I disturbing you?"

Loki bites back the automatic reply that he wouldn't have let her in if that were the case; he and Frigga have established a somewhat delicate balance in their dealings with each other, and he's reluctant to upset it just to take out a bit of his frustration on her. He resists the ingrained impulse to get up when she enters, though; protocol dictates that the king rises for no-one, and even though there would be no need to stand on ceremony when they're alone, Loki prefers the occasional subtle reminder that _he_ rules in Asgard just like she wanted him to.

"Allmother."

She merely nods and takes the seat Loki offers her with a gesture. "May I ask how the negotiations went?"

"Well, I managed not to strangle any of King Eitri's delegates, so I'd consider it a reasonable success," Loki deadpans. "Mind you, I make no promises as far as future encounters are concerned."

Frigga's lips twitch for a moment, but she quickly turns serious again. "You knew from the start this was going to be difficult."

"Thank you for reminding me." Loki didn't intend for his reply to come out quite so sarcastic, and he raises his hand in silent apology at the flash of hurt that crosses Frigga's expression. "I didn't mean to snap at you, Mother, I'm merely a little tired."

"I'd be surprised if you weren't." Frigga sounds like she's making an effort to appear concerned rather than reproachful. "Loki, I've witnessed up close how exhausting a king's everyday duties are, and you're trying to handle dozens of very delicate negotiations on top of that. Do you –"

Loki cuts her off before she can finish. "Are you accusing me of neglecting my duties?"

She leans forward in her seat, her eyes intent. "I'm trying to tell you that I'm _worried_ , my son – I understand how dire the situation is, and I admire your dedication, but I'm afraid that you'll run yourself ragged if you're not careful, and neither you nor Asgard can afford that."

_Thank you for the vote of confidence, Allmother_. Loki isn't going to let her see that he's bothered by her lack of trust in his abilities, of course, so he deflects. "Does that mean I'll also get to nap for a month whenever I feel like it?"

The joke may have been in bad taste, but he can tell it had the desired effect when Frigga smiles weakly. "It will be a few millennia yet until you have need of that." He isn't sure whether she really was fooled by his flippancy, but at least she doesn't push further.

"Any news from Alfheim?" Loki hopes his question makes it clear that he considers the personal part of their conversation to be over.

Frigga straightens when she replies. "Not yet, I'll be talking to King Freyr again the day after tomorrow. The Vanir delegation left this morning, and I expect to hear back from the ambassador once he has presented the results of our meeting to his superiors."

"Let me know when you do." He tries to make it sound like a request, not an order, although he doesn't think he was entirely successful. "Was there anything else?"

She remains undeterred by the obvious dismissal. "Can I ask... do you know how your sister fares?"

Loki finds it curious that Frigga will only ever refer to Hela as Loki's sister and never by her name (let alone her patronymic). He doesn't ask about it, though; Hela isn't a topic he is willing to discuss with his mother. He's aware that Frigga believes he's deliberately keeping her at arm's length, but the truth about her stepdaughter would cause her far more grief than Loki's refusal to speak of Odin's firstborn.

"She's well enough," he replies curtly and hardens his heart against the way Frigga's face falls. "I don't mean to be impolite, Mother, but I really need to get back to work now."

"Of course, my son; forgive me for keeping you." Loki doesn't like seeing her smile look so strained, but he still can't help feeling grateful when she gets up and finally leaves him alone.

_Well enough indeed_. Loki leans back in his seat, the mountain of work that awaits him momentarily forgotten. Frigga doesn't need to know that he spares a few minutes to check on his deadly not-sibling almost every time he makes use of Hliðskjálf's Sight; even bound to a miserable place like Niflheim as Hela is, it would not be wise to allow her to remain entirely unsupervised. He has been watching her gather the flotsam of the galaxy around her these past months; wanted criminals and escaped felons, thieves and crooks, brigands and murderers – they are flocking to her to bend the knee before her bleak throne, happy enough to pay her the homage she demands of them in return for offering the wretched and desperate a realm that won't spit them out like the scum they are. Sometimes she even tells them in advance that they won't be able to leave her domain once they swear allegiance to her; it doesn't seem to discourage most of those who wash up on Niflheim's shores.

Loki can't help a grim smile as he remembers the old children's tales. Traitors, kinslayers and oathbreakers – they belong to Queen Hela of the Dismal Lands until Ragnarök tears the world asunder…

_So this is how you bow your neck under the yoke of your destiny, Goddess of Death._

And yet… he wouldn't have expected one who used to command the forces of the Golden Realm to put all of her shackled strength into crowning herself a queen of beggars, but he has never seen any evidence that she's deterred by the pitifully narrow options he has left her. More than once, he has caught himself admiring her tireless, single-minded determination, and a part of him can't help wondering whether this isn't exactly the kind of focus _he_ will need if he is to beat the near-impossible odds he is facing. If Hela keeps going like this – and Loki has no doubt that she will – it won't be long now until her realm is a force to be reckoned with. Sif's grasp of her Sight is getting stronger every day, and it's only a matter of time until she comes to him to report on a sinister new queen ruling in Niflheim. Loki isn't certain yet what he's going to tell his gatekeeper once she does, but it's a bridge he will cross when he gets to it. Right now, there are far more pressing concerns that demand his attention.

Deep in thought, Loki pushes his chair back and wanders over to the window. The view of the Realm Eternal is just that – forever unchanging, the scars left behind by the Svartálfar attack already erased from the bright face of the golden city that surrounds the palace. _His_ palace, although that still sounds jarring like a single false note in an otherwise perfect harmony.

Shaking his head to clear it, Loki watches the tiny figures of courtiers and servants as they scurry across the wide courtyard below. It seems strange that the first few days of his rule felt like they would never end, as if time itself had been stretched almost to the point of snapping – but now, as the weeks fly by so quickly that they have turned into months before he fully realized it, that same time pulls him along with the might of a flooding river that threatens to drown everyone caught in its current. So far, he's keeping himself afloat, but he knows that a single wrong move might get him pulled under.

_I'm not sinking quite yet, though_. He's well aware that several of his councilors are lying in wait for his first grievous mistake that will allow them to expose the sinister motives they suspect behind his plan to seek out allies against Thanos (he still doesn't think all of them fully believe that threat to be real, and it gives him no satisfaction to know that the day will come when they can no longer doubt his warning), but he isn't planning on giving them the opening they're waiting for. Negotiations with Vanaheim and Alfheim – traditionally the two realms with the closest ties to Asgard – are well underway and can be left in the hands of Asgard's diplomats under Lady Irpa's supervision. The queen dowager has volunteered her services as intermediator, and Loki was glad to accept her offer since Frigga is in a unique position that lets her bridge the gaps between all three realms – born a princess of Vanaheim, she is also a blood relative of King Freyr of Alfheim, who (in spite of having been installed by Odin as Asgard's puppet king) is well beloved by the Ljósálfar under his rule. Both Vanaheim and Alfheim are predictably eager to see the fetters of Asgard's overlordship loosened in favor of an alliance, especially since – according to Frigga – both realms have far clearer memories of Thanos than Asgard and therefore a better sense of the approaching danger than the Aesir populace, who still clings to their stubborn belief in Asgard's invincibility as if the Svartálfar had never taught them otherwise.

For as long as he can remember, Loki has mostly regarded his mother as a dutiful wife and queen, and he still isn't quite used to the way the proud Vanir princess is beginning to shine through the façade of the grief-stricken widow. He doesn't doubt that Frigga's mourning is genuine – he hasn't seen her wear any other color than deepest black ever since he returned to Asgard, and it has been impossible to miss how she shies away from mentioning Odin or Thor in his presence. It makes sense that she wouldn't wish to speak of her grief to him considering she can't expect him to share it, and Loki himself has absolutely no desire to even ponder the question whether the deaths of his not-brother and never-father mean anything to him other than the loss of the chance to rub it in their faces that _he_ is now sitting on Odin's golden throne. They are gone, and pointlessly stirring up their memory might only distract him when he can ill afford it.

Pushing the thought aside with practiced ease, Loki returns to his previous musings. Vanaheim and Alfheim will fall in line; eventually, Nidavellir will too, even though it will still be a huge hassle to get the Dwarves where he wants them. They will keep haggling and bickering as well as harping on their personal grievances against Loki (who has the faded scars around his mouth to prove that he would be well within his rights to hold a few grudges himself), but he remains optimistic that in the end, they won't be able to refuse the lure of a stronger position among the Nine _and_ better protection, even if it comes from an Asgard under Loki's rule. He doesn't expect much resistance among his own subjects either – Aesir warriors are far too interested in Dwarven steel and the unrivalled blades forged in Nidavellir's smithies to care much about the political balance between the two realms. Besides, even though the Dwarves rarely wage war, they are as apt at wielding weapons as they are at forging them, and few of Asgard's generals will object to having the armies of Nidavellir by their side once Thanos brings his war to the Nine Realms.

Things are not nearly so clear-cut when it comes to Midgard. Loki drums his fingers on the windowsill and ponders the irony that the backwater mortal realm should play such a key role in his plans, now that he has found out that it not only holds the Mind Gem he left there, but that there's a second Infinity Stone hidden under the cover of what passes for magic (or rather their pitiful excuse for it) among the mortals. Once Loki came across the Gem during his nightly searches from Hliðskjálf's seat, it was but a moment's work to peel back the protective layers of borrowed power (Midgard's magicless sorcerers have to harness the forces around them – a solution Loki has always considered inelegant, but he'll grant they don't have much choice in the matter since most mortals don't possess even the slightest spark of seiðr) to ascertain that he had indeed located the Time Stone.

He has kept Midgard under close scrutiny since then. He was, of course, already aware that the mortals have absolutely no understanding of the powers they're meddling with as far as the Infinity Stones are concerned (their "use" of the Tesseract more than proved it), but he still can't quite believe that Stark (how many times will the mouthy little mortal have to get burned before he stops building half-living creatures with more power than he could ever hope to control?) convinced himself it was a good idea to implant the Mind Stone into a mechanical being. It took Loki just one taste of the Mind Gem's touch to know that he never wants to come near the accursed thing again, yet the mortals keep pawing at it like a child playing with fire. It will be centuries until they develop the ability to tap into the full power of the Gems, though, so Loki thinks it best to ensure that both the Time and the Mind Stones stay where they are for the time being.

Loki smiles thinly when he remembers Stark's threat against him. No, Midgard will certainly not be allied with King Loki's Asgard for at least three of their mayfly generations, but his "invasion" has forced them to start preparing on their own, no matter how primitive their technology and how limited their resources are. He has given them just the tiniest taste of what might be awaiting them outside the boundaries of their unruly realm, but he is already beginning to see the effects when he directs the throne's Sight at them these days. Oh yes, they will prepare themselves like the frantic little ants they are – Fury took the comparison as an insult, but it really wasn't given what insignificant little creatures can achieve when there's vast numbers of them. Anyone stupid enough to stick his head into an anthill (Thor would do _anything_ on a dare when they were children) will quickly find out they aren't powerless at all, and Loki is reasonably certain he can count on the same being true for Midgard's peculiar inhabitants.

He doesn't have much time to spare for Midgard these days anyway. With a sigh, Loki returns to his desk and takes the missive he put away earlier out of the drawer. He breaks the seal and skims the contents, then sits down and reads the text again, this time very carefully.

The surviving Svartálfar (so that "Elvish-looking" courier was a Dark Elf not wearing the traditional mask?) are asking for peace and Asgard's permission to return to their old realm.

Loki reads the letter a third time, his thoughts racing. The Svartálfar claim that it was Malekith who led them astray with the help of Dark Magic (there's actually no such thing since all magic is intent, the part of Loki that will forever remain a scholar can't help pointing out); they remind Asgard's king that they're the last of their kind, that they only want to return to the home that was taken from them millennia ago and are far too few and too weakened to ever pose a threat to the other realms again.

Loki can hear the Aether's low grumbling at the back of his mind and catches himself pressing his fingers against the faded burn of a wound that never was in his chest, which probably shouldn't surprise him since he had that peculiar dream the night after the battle against the same Dark Elves who are now suing for peace. He has been to Svartalfheim a few times in his youth when he used to practice his skywalking abilities all across the Nine – the realm's surface is a barren wasteland, but as far as he knows, the Dark Elves used to dwell underground, so there's a chance their world might still be habitable after all. Perhaps he shouldn't dismiss the plea out of hand – if only to witness the reaction of his councilors when he brings it up at the next council meeting.

During moments like this, when he feels like he's pulling three dozen different strings at once just to see what kind of patterns he'll get as a result, he finds himself actually enjoying the chaos his life has turned into. The feeling of wrongness that has been permeating everything since he set foot on Asgard's soil again is still there, a low background noise that never fully fades, but whenever he sees the pieces of another madcap scheme fall into place, when he tosses another idea at Odin's old guard that makes them blanch with a mix of shock and impotent fury, when another pompous foreign diplomat gasps for air like a fish out of water at the audacity of Loki's proposal which he will end up accepting a few hours later, Loki feels like _himself_ instead of an animated clay figure pressed into the mold of kingship. It's these moments that are worth the exhaustion, the annoyance, the sleepless nights and the constant sensation of a thousand eyes on his back because he can finally _do_ something, can take control of his own life again instead of spending it on the run from a fate that might catch up with him any second.

He has Asgard's power and two Infinity Gems at his disposal on top of his wit and his seiðr, and he's going to make sure Thanos finds his quest for the Stones far more difficult than he expected. It's still likely that all of Loki's clever plans will come to naught, that they won't stand a chance against Thanos in the end, but he'll be damned if he just cowers in fear and meekly waits for annihilation.

Loki puts the Svartálfar letter into his portfolio for the next council meeting and mentally goes through the list of arguments he'll present to counter the councilors' guaranteed opposition. It's far more effective ( _and_ entertaining) to invalidate their objections instead of just overruling them; that way, they can't even complain about him being high-handed, given that he went to such lengths to convince them even though he didn't have to (he _is_ the king, after all).

_A throne would suit you ill, brother._

Loki makes a face and hopes the sanctimonious oaf chokes on his mead in the feasting halls of Valhalla. If he ever – _no, stop it, don't think of him, you have far more important things to think about right now._

In an attempt to resume his earlier train of thought, Loki rises and returns to the window. Hela's Niflheim, Vanaheim and Alfheim, the Dwarves of Nidavellir, the mortals of Midgard and now the Svartálfar refugees – the list is growing, yet Yggdrasil consists of nine worlds, and they can ill afford to leave realm-sized holes in their defenses.

There seems to be little danger of Thanos' troops overrunning Muspelheim since no other living being besides the Fire Giants can survive there, and even the members of the Black Order probably aren't fireproof. Loki doesn't doubt that the Eldjötnar would make formidable allies in any fight, but they have been considered enemies of Asgard ever since Odin defeated King Surtur millennia ago. To the best of Loki's knowledge, Surtur was more of a tribal leader than the actual king of the entire realm, but there has been no contact between Asgard and Muspelheim since his fall, so Loki has no idea how much of a grudge the Fire Giants are still holding.

One might approach them through their closest kin, of course.

Loki abandons the spot by the window and starts pacing. There it is again, the – what was the quaint expression his Hawk used to describe a thing that is there yet not spoken of? The elephant in the room? The topic has been studiously avoided during several council meetings after that very first one, when General Tyr stated offhandedly that "the Frost Giants, of course, will never be our allies while the House of Odin rules in Asgard".

The idea does indeed sound absurd – neither the Aesir nor the Jötnar would be willing to even talk of peace between them, and King Loki seems to be the absolute last person who could bring such a peace about.

_You set a clever trap for Laufey and slew him when he tried to murder the king; you directed the Bifröst against Jötunheim because you were beside yourself with fury about their attempt on your father's life… and many whisper that it is a shame you were stopped_.

Loki remembers Frigga's words as if he had heard them a mere hour ago. He knows she spoke truth, that it's what the people were told and what everyone in Asgard believes. Loki would be more than happy to leave it at that, to forget the frozen realm that spawned him as well as the creature who abandoned him to a miserable death after tainting him with the cursed legacy of his true nature underneath the Aesir façade.

He can still feel the icy prickle ghosting across his skin like it did when his hands turned blue from the Casket's touch, when the world as he had known it fell apart before his eyes and Loki Odinson became a lie just like the color of his skin. And yet – he has left the name of Odinson behind, has witnessed his murderous not-sister's pride in her monstrous blood, has faced monsters so far worse than the Frost Giants that Laufey and his kin appear like characters out of a nursery story by comparison. Can Jötunheim's frozen darkness truly hold any terror for one who survived the Void _and_ Sanctuary?

Taking a deep breath, Loki returns to his desk and lifts the glamour from the stacked books that await him there. No, Loki Odinson could never be an ally of Jötunheim – but he is not the one who rules in Asgard.

_The Frost Giants will never ally themselves with us, General Tyr?_ Ignoring the way his skin crawls, Loki takes the first book from the pile and opens it at random to the crudely drawn picture of a blue figure wearing what looks like a crown made of ice. The image brings a smile to his face, albeit one with little humor in it.

_Oh, but I believe they will._

 


	15. Chapter 15

The Tesseract purrs like a cat that's being petted when Loki gently coaxes its power to push against the threads of space until he can pry them apart. The portal opens just wide enough for him to pass through, although he knows better than to go unprotected– once he rises from Hliðskjálf's seat, there will be a moment of blindness between the last image of the Sight in his mind and the first thing his eyes will be able to see on the other side, and too much can happen to the unwary in a single moment. Loki is well aware that what he's planning is extremely dangerous, but there's a difference between a calculated risk and reckless stupidity.

Ignoring the leaden weight of dread in the pit of his stomach that has been his constant companion ever since he first decided on this plan, Loki stands and raises a shimmering barrier of seiðr around him before he steps through the swirling blue vortex into the deeper, darker blue on the other side.

He is greeted by two needle-sharp spears of ice that shatter against his shield just as the portal closes behind him. Conscious that he must not yield an inch if his plan is to succeed, Loki pushes a little more power into the shielding spell before he allows himself to take a look around.

It's reassuring to see that he didn't miscalculate – the small chamber is empty but for the two towering figures in front of him, and judging by the complete blackness outside the sheet of clear ice that covers the single opening in the room's glittering blue walls, it must be the middle of the night.

Perfect.

With a turn of his wrist, he casts another spell, one that enfolds the entire room in a bubble of silence that will prevent its two occupants from calling for help or raising an alarm. Then, hands held loosely by his sides to signal his peaceful intentions, he inclines his head just far enough to express respect, but not subservience.

"Well met, Helblindi and Byleistr Laufeyson, Kings of Jötunheim."

Neither of the two reacts to his greeting, giving Loki a moment's leisure to study the opponents he isn't ever going to consider his brothers. It is highly unusual for Jötunheim to have two kings – by tradition, the late king's adult sons should have fought out their claim, but after Laufey's death, both of them allegedly considered the times too dire to risk a civil war between their respective supporters and decided to share the crown instead, although Loki can't imagine this arrangement will prove feasible in the long run. Would he have been willing to share the throne with Thor? The question is moot, of course; neither Thor nor Odin (nor, probably, Asgard) would ever have stood for it.

The one who looks older – Helblindi, most likely – is a little shorter than his sibling, which isn't saying much since both of them are at least three feet taller than Loki, with Byleistr being almost twice as wide as well. Helblindi greatly resembles Laufey, his face and body made up of nothing but sharp angles, the blue of his skin criss-crossed by so many scars that his clan markings are barely visible any more. In spite of being built like a mountain range, Byleistr's features are softer (making Loki wonder whether Jötunheim's younger king is even fully out of adolescence yet), and the dark blue patterns against the paler color of his skin remind Loki so much of those he saw on his own face during the single time he forced himself to look into a mirror while wearing this form that it leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

He doesn't allow his revulsion to distract him, though; he knew beforehand that there would be no room for his personal feelings in this endeavor.

"I apologize for the intrusion, but I have matters of great importance to discuss with you, and I couldn't risk being interrupted or overheard. Don't bother," he adds when Helblindi makes a  move towards the room's only door, "the entrance is sealed" – it wasn't before, but a quick snap of his fingers takes care of it – "and the room soundproofed, so your guards won't hear you if you try calling for them."

He fully expects Helblindi to try the door anyway, but the elder king doesn't (not trusting his brother to ward off a possible attack while his back is turned?) and chooses to shoot Loki a blood-red glare instead. "You dare attack Jötunheim's kings, sorcerer?"

"Who the fuck are you?" The tone of Byleistr's almost simultaneous question conveys far less affronted majesty and far more hot-headed fury than Helblindi's, confirming Loki's first impression that he's facing a half-grown boy still unused to the pretense of adulthood.

"Forgive my lack of manners." Loki sketches another shallow bow that has a hint of irony to it even though he manages to keep his voice even. "I am Loki of Asgard."

Byleistr's eyes widen; he takes a step back and clenches his hands into fists, while his brother tenses like a snake coiled to strike. "You're lying."

This time, Loki can't quite keep the sarcasm out of his tone. "I believe that should confirm my claim rather than invalidating it."

"And yet you want us to believe that you speak truth, Trickster?" Almost against his will, Loki finds himself impressed by Helblindi's self-control; Byleistr, that is plain to see, would already have his hands around Loki's throat if it were up to him. "You expect us to believe that Asgard's new king would dare to set foot on the realm of his greatest enemies?"

_I wish I could still consider you that, Laufeyson, but I'm afraid you're flattering yourself_. Loki doesn't allow his thoughts to show on his face; he isn't here to deepen the chasm between Asgard and Jötunheim further, after all. Instead, he summons Gungnir to his hand and holds it out before him so the brothers can see it clearly. "Is that enough to convince you?"

Helblindi's eyes narrow. "You're telling me this is Odin's spear?"

" _Was_ Odin's spear." Loki meets the elder king's gaze without wavering. "I would have expected Laufey's sons to recognize the weapon that killed their father."

Byleistr tries to lunge forward, but is held back by his brother's steely grip on his arm. Loki doesn't even bat an eyelash; he's reasonably certain that Helblindi, at least, has more sense than to give Asgard another reason to make war on Jötunheim, although it remains to be seen how well he is able to rein in the younger king's temper.

The Norns are in a mood to make sport of all of Laufey's sons today, it seems.

Byleistr appears too furious to speak, but Helblindi sounds remarkably composed when he states, "Odin Swift-in-Deceit claimed it was the prince who slew King Laufey in defense of his father's life." 

For the first time since this conversation started, Loki has to struggle to keep his face expressionless. He's well aware that everyone who lives in Yggdrasil's shadow would think of one man only when the Allfather spoke of 'the prince', but why would Odin trick the Jötnar into thinking that _Thor_ killed their king instead of putting the blame – rightly, even – on the troublesome foundling he believed to be dead anyway? Did he want the Jötnar to fear his living son rather than to waste their hatred on his lost changeling? Couldn't he even –

_Stop thinking about it; none of it matters anymore. Focus on what needs to be done today._

Feigning a calm he definitely isn't feeling, Loki decides to keep his answer cryptic. "Then he half-earned the kenning you used."

_For it was a prince who slew Laufey, but no more a prince of Asgard than the man he saved was his father._

Helblindi's expression darkens. "The bards of my realm know many of those, and he has fully earned every one of them. Odin Bale-Worker, Ruler of Treachery, who didn't content himself with robbing Jötunheim of her heart and her king, but had to rip her skies asunder and tear her ground apart as well to collect a blood-price Laufey had already paid with his life. Shall I tell you of the songs my people are singing in praise of the Svartálfar for finally sending the Slain-Receiver after all those he burned to ash when he turned the Bifröst against Jötunheim?"

Loki is taken aback for a moment – not by the naked hatred in Helblindi's eyes, which is hardly surprising, but by the realization that the Jötnar blame Odin for Loki's attack on their realm. Odin would hardly have tried to take _credit_ for that, would he?

_No, Loki –_

Of course he would have if he had something to gain from it.

And yet... Loki studies the faces of Laufey's sons and is struck by the realization that it makes little difference to them who aimed the Bifröst at their world, whose hands held the spear that killed their father, who allowed Thor to slip away to Jötunheim and start slaughtering Frost Giants. Asgard did all that while Odin ruled in Asgard, so everything that happened under his rule was his doing, just like everything Odin did as Asgard's king was done by Asgard herself.

He almost laughs out loud when he thinks the idea through to its logical conclusion – because _Loki_ now sits on Asgard's throne, and everything he does, everything _Loki Laufeyson_ does, will be Asgard's doing in the eyes of the Nine. There's not a single drop of Aesir blood in his veins, and yet he _is_ Asgard, is the face, the mind, the voice of the Realm Eternal, and every action Asgard takes under his reign, every achievement or atrocity, every success or failure, will be in his name alone.

There is no better lie than one that becomes truth in the telling, and who better than the God of Lies to make all of Yggdrasil fall for his masterpiece?

Son of two fathers and none, child of two realms and none – it took one who will never be his sister to remind him who he is, so it is probably fitting that those who were never his brothers should enable him to finally face _what_ he is underneath the mask he has been wearing since infancy.

Helblindi still seems to be waiting for an outraged reaction to his slights against the late Allfather; when Loki remains silent, the elder king's face twists into a sneer.

"I doubt the Thunderer would have allowed an enemy to insult his father's memory with impunity."

Loki raises an eyebrow, amused despite himself. _Nicely played, not-brother, but I am far better at this game than you_. "He wouldn't have, but I'm not here to trade insults with you."

Helblindi's expression turns calculating. "It's true, then, that Asgard is trying to prepare all of Yggdrasil for war because Thanos is moving against you? Are you so weak, King of Asgard, that you're turning to _us_ in your search for allies? Jötunheim would rejoice in your realm's obliteration!"

"We will dance on the ashes the World-Devourer leaves behind when he's done with you!" Byleistr adds with considerably more fervor than Helblindi; the half-veiled glare he gets from his older brother in return is all the confirmation Loki needs that Helblindi's words were not the absolute rejection he tried to make them out to be, but an opening gambit meant to force Loki to show his hand.

"Ashes will be all that's left of the Nine if we allow the Titan to pick us off one by one," he replies evenly, keeping his eyes on Helblindi. "The fact that he's Asgard's enemy doesn't make him your ally, Kings of Jötunheim, because he _has_ no allies – he doesn't discriminate between friend and foe when he doles out death and destruction. His goal is not victory, but annihilation, and I can see that at least one of you knows I speak truth even if he's reluctant to admit it."

Byleistr opens his mouth for another heated reply, but Helblindi cuts him off with a gesture that can't be mistaken for anything but the non-verbal equivalent of 'shut up while the adults are talking'. Byleistr glowers at his brother, but keeps his silence in what can only be described as a sulk. If the situation weren't so serious, Loki would find the whole exchange highly entertaining.

"You assume much, Asgardian." Helblindi's gravelly voice doesn't convey much emotion, but Loki is still pretty sure that his words have hit a nerve.

"Am I wrong, King Helblindi? Will you truly forgo the chance to prevent your people's extinction for the sake of your pride?"

Helblindi's face spasms; apparently Loki has finally managed to push him to the limits of his stoic restraint. "Thanks to your father, _Odinson_ , my people have been on a slow, painful march towards extinction for a millennium. Our realm is dying around us, so why wouldn't we choose a quicker, cleaner death that will at least grant us the satisfaction of seeing Asgard fall with us?"

"Ah." Loki has to bite back a grin; who'd have thought Helblindi would be accommodating enough to provide him with the perfect cue? "That is actually the reason for my visit. There's something I promised my father shortly before he died, and I'm here to fulfill that promise."

Byleistr turns his head to spit on the floor, and even though Helblindi's reaction is a little more subdued, his upper lip curls in disgust. "We do not care about any promises you made to Odin."

Loki takes a deep breath and, steeling himself, answers with a smile that has no humor in it, "I wasn't talking about Odin."

With a flourish that isn't strictly necessary but will hopefully detract attention from the fact that his hands are shaking ever so slightly, he opens his pocket dimension and calls forth the Casket of Ancient Winters.


	16. Chapter 16

The Casket of Ancient Winters casts an eerie pale light on the shocked faces of Jötunheim's kings as it hovers a few inches above Loki's outstretched palm. Without meaning to, Loki tightens the grip of his other hand on Gungnir; this is the crucial moment, and he can't afford even the slightest mistake now.

"Here's my offer, Kings of Jötunheim: I will return the Casket to you and restore your world's heart in exchange for your blood oath to keep peace with Asgard, and to stand with her and the rest of the realms against any threat from outside the Nine."

His words are met which such deep silence that it seems to Loki he can hear the moisture in the air around the Casket crackle as it freezes.

Byleistr's expression is that of a child presented with a fairy tale come true – filled with such wonder and desperate yearning that it looks strangely out of place on the face of such a massive, brutish creature. Helblindi is harder to read; he seems torn between hope and wariness, which Loki assumes is what _he_ would feel if he were in the elder king's place right now.

Eventually, though, Helblindi's face hardens; caution has apparently won out. "You are famous for your honeyed words, Silvertongue, but no son of Odin would ever keep faith with us."

Loki closes his eyes for a second and takes a deep breath, focusing on the burn of freezing air in his lungs. He can feel the Tesseract's constant, ever-tempting hum, reminding him that he need not be here, that it would take him no more than a thought to return to –

To the kingdom whose doom is just as certain as Jötunheim's is without the Casket if the trickster on Asgard's throne can't trick the Nine into standing together against the approaching Titan.

_This is what you came here to do; are you going to falter now just because you can't face the monster lurking underneath your skin, King of Asgard?_

When he finally speaks, Loki's voice is steady. "You're right, King Helblindi, but it is no son of Odin who is offering you this bargain."

He does what he learned to do whenever the Other's misshapen fingers reached for him, when Ebony Maw stepped into his prison cell with a soft little smile promising pain beyond imagining – _shut off all feelings, don't allow yourself to think, to hope, to fear, retreat to a place where nothing can touch you. Whatever happens to that which remains of you, it will pass, and you will still be here when it does._

It has been a while since he last had to pull back into the deepest pit of his own mind, but it's still there, that place not even Thanos could reach, and it's from there that Loki can watch almost dispassionately as the blue starts creeping up his arm when he touches the Casket. He doesn't dwell on the memory of that fateful day in Odin's Vault; he has rehearsed this moment at least a dozen times, back in the safety of his own quarters, hidden behind the strongest wards he has ever cast in his life because no soul on Asgard must ever witness _this_ – but he needed to do it, needed to get used to the chill sweeping across his body like the sting of an icy gust of wind on bare skin, needed to see the face of his nightmares reflected in his mirror until he would be able to wear it without flinching when he had to.

He half expects Gungnir to recoil from his touch once the blue has reached his other hand, but the ever-present heartbeat of Asgard's magic within the spear remains steady, and despite his best efforts, Loki can't keep his fingers from tightening around it as if he were clinging to a lifeline. The icy prickle has spread to his face now, and Loki can tell by the way it becomes easier to breathe the chilled air that the transformation is complete, that Laufey's sons will now be able to read the truth of his birth in the lines marring his cheeks and forehead.

Byleistr is gaping like a fish on land, eyes wide and mouth hanging open; Helblindi looks as if he were facing the apparition of a long-banished spirit walking among the living again. " _Loptr?_ "

Loki cocks his head to the side; the sensation of detachment is still lingering even though he knows he has to pull himself back into the present, that he will need every ounce of his wit at this most critical junction of all. "Was that my name? I always wondered."

_So the Jötnar name their runts before they leave them to die – but why waste a name on a creature you do not consider worth keeping? Which kennel master names a misshapen pup before he drowns it?_

"It cannot be." Helblindi still seems to have trouble believing what his eyes are telling him. Loki has done his reading – Jötnar bear their mother's clan marks on their bodies, their father's on their faces; no two clans have similar markings, so there's no way any Frost Giant could ever hope to hide or falsify his lineage... unless he were known as a skilled shapeshifter across the Nine.

Loki holds Helblindi's piercing gaze and can't help noticing that his never-brother appears much more like a living being and less like an animated statue of ice now that he's looking at him through blood-red eyes. "You flatter my abilities, but do you truly believe that your realm's sacred Casket would allow me to imitate the markings of Laufey's house if I weren't of his blood?"

"Show us your arm." Byleistr's voice is trembling. "If you are who you claim to be, Laufey's true son and not just some bastard, you will bear Farbauti's marks as well –"

Without letting go of Gungnir, Loki twists his left hand around the spear so his sleeve slides back to reveal the lines on his wrist. Helblindi barely gazes at them, though; he seems already convinced.

"Father always believed that his sacrifice had been in vain, but now it turns out the Gods never received it."

"Sacrifice?" Loki frowns. "I was told I had been abandoned."

Helblindi's eyes flash dangerously. "Is that what Odin said after he stole you?"

Loki keeps his calm; they're treading dangerous ground now, and he actually prefers to focus on Helblindi's reaction because it doesn't give him time to ponder what this revelation might mean for him. _How come you never thought to question that story before, God of Lies? Odin claimed to have found you in a temple, but who leaves their garbage in their most sacred place?_

"Odin told me nothing until I discovered my... nature myself a very short time ago. If I am not to believe him, why don't _you_ tell me the truth, King Helblindi?"

To Loki's surprise, Helblindi tilts his head in the younger king's direction. "Byleistr makes for a better storyteller than I do."

They boy – and seen through these eyes it is utterly obvious he is still that – seems deeply shaken, but at an impatient gesture from his older brother, he obediently starts to speak. His voice is surprisingly clear and even slips into a skald's measured cadences when he begins a tale he has obviously heard many times before.

"Farbauti-Queen was a woman of rare beauty, a sorceress of rare power, and well-beloved by both her mate and her people; great was her joy when she first found herself with child in the last summer before the long winter began. Laufey-King rejoiced with her, and set out with his warriors to bring back enough of Midgard's riches to build a new and greater stronghold for his line, a more splendid temple to house the Heart of Jötunheim so none would ever take harm from winter's fury again.

But Odin Glad-of-War desired all the realms for himself and would not share their treasures with anyone. He brought his dogs of war to Jötunheim and besieged Laufey's capital until Utgard lay in ruins; yet Laufey and his warriors held firm against the never-ending storm of the Battle-Wolf's wrath so that those who could not bear arms might escape. It was in those dark days that Farbauti-Queen gave birth to a son, born with his mother's seiðr and his father's strength flowing in his veins, and she fled the palace with the babe to keep him safe. Yet the brave queen was much weakened by the ordeals she had endured, and breathed her last in the arms of the Volur dwelling in Utgard's Great Temple, where she had taken refuge.

Laufey-King received the joyful tidings of his son's birth together with the ill ones of the queen's passing, and he was much aggrieved by the death of his mate and the Spear-Shaker's advance towards the center of Utgard. Defeat seemed inevitable, and so, with deep sorrow, he decided to offer the most painful of sacrifices to the Winter Gods: the precious life of his first-born son, the first magical boy-child born into his house in living memory. If even this most treasured gift couldn't save his people, there was no hope left for Jötunheim, so it was not for the father to save his son when he king had to save his people.

Thus, his heart bleeding in his chest, Laufey named his son and called him Loptr, then gave the order to offer the babe to the Winter Gods in the temple without his sire ever having laid eyes on him, so the life of Jötunheim's prince might quench the Gods' thirst for his people's blood. Yet even the greatest of sacrifices could not untangle the Norns' threads; the Battle-Wolf ravaged the city and the temple, and tore out Jötunheim's heart to leave her people to ruin and desolation. Thus it has been sung in the hall of Laufey-King ever since those dark days, and thus ends my tale."

Something hot and heavy seems to have lodged itself in Loki's throat and makes it hard to breathe; he tries to ignore the sensation, but his voice still comes out hoarse when he says in the most off-hand tone he can muster, "I mean no offense to your poetic talents, King Byleistr, but you will forgive me if I don't take a bard's tale entirely at face value."

Byleistr _is_ clearly taking offense, because he snaps, "Are you calling me a liar?"

Loki keeps his tone conciliatory. "Let's just say I still have a few questions."

"Ask, then." It's Helblindi who replies, probably in an attempt to wrestle the conversation away from the hot-headed youngster sharing his crown. "You bear the marks of Laufey's and Farbauti's lines, and it's fairly obvious that Odin stole you from the temple and then claimed you had been left behind. Did you never wonder why a king of Jötunheim would just abandon his son?"

Loki shrugs; he isn't going to tell Helblindi how often he has asked himself that very question. "I assumed that runts had no place in a royal house."

Helblindi's expression is a mix of disgust and condescension. "I suppose such is the way of the Aesir, so I can't blame you for not knowing better. If by 'runt' you mean your short stature, that is the nature of all our people's wielders of seiðr – magic requires so much of a person's life force that those born with it remain shorter and more delicate than those without; they do not have need of physical strength since their magic makes them stronger than any warrior could ever hope to be. You have the build and the black hair of a magic-wielder, just like my father's first queen has often been described to me. Mages are rare among our people, but my forefathers were wise enough to choose many of their queens from among Jötunheim's most powerful sorceresses. Thus, at least one magical child has been born into every generation of our house, although it has indeed been a long while since Jötunheim last had a sorcerer prince, making you the most precious gift Laufey could have offered to appease the Winter Gods. What doubts could you still have about the veracity of my brother's tale?"

Loki can't help flashing back to the appearance of his eldest not-sibling, with her raven-black hair and her lithe, panther-like grace; didn't Hela claim that her mother had also been a sorceress from Jötunheim's royal house? Is that the reason why he and Hela look so disconcertingly alike even though their blood relation is distant at best?

No matter; there will be time to ponder the implications later, but now he can't allow himself to be distracted any more. He has already allowed this conversation to drag on for much longer than he had planned; it's time to return to the reason he took the risk of coming to this Norns-forsaken realm in the first place.

"I do not doubt it, and I thank you for enlightening me about my origins, Kings of Jötunheim; I offered you the truth of my bloodline as a show of good faith, but it doesn't change the fact that I stand before you as Asgard's king."

Loki lets go of the Casket and leaves it hovering in the air, safely protected from greedy hands by his magical shield. As soon as he is no longer touching the Casket, he feels the blue retreat from his skin together with the somewhat comfortable temperature; the sudden bite of frost has never come as such a relief before.

"I have made my offer; now I would hear your answer. I will return to the Realm Eternal your sworn ally, or I will return there with the Casket. How do you choose?"

Helblindi and Byleistr exchange a long, complicated look between them; it isn't until he sees the younger king's shoulders slump ever so slightly that Loki dares to breathe again.

Helblindi's tone is carefully neutral when he replies in a voice that reminds Loki of crunching gravel, "We accept your offer, King of Asgard."

It's Loki's turn to keep his expression free from emotion; until the alliance is secured, he must not let Jötunheim's kings see just how important it is to him.

"I asked for a blood oath."

"We will give it." Helblindi lifts his left hand and lets ice grow from the tips of his fingers to form a short, sharp blade; then he slices it across his right palm until dark blue blood wells up from the shallow cut. At a glare from his older brother, Byleistr does the same, albeit with visible reluctance.

"Will you let us swear on the Casket?"

Loki has to suppress the urge to roll his eyes; if Helblindi thinks he can trick him with such a clumsy gambit at the last minute, he's going to be sorely disappointed. "Is there another way for Jötunheim's kings to swear a sacred oath? Raise your hands over the Casket as you swear; I have spelled it to allow none but myself to touch it until I lift the enchantment."

Byleistr shoots him a dirty look, which Loki studiously ignores; the kings are going to find out he isn't bluffing if they should really be foolhardy enough to reach for the Casket without his permission. Byleistr still appears sorely tempted to try just that, but at another glare from Helblindi, he clenches his teeth and lifts his bleeding hand just like Loki asked.

Helblindi does the same and, as the first drop of his blood drips onto the Casket, begins to speak. "If the Casket of Ancient Winters is returned to us, then I, Helblindi, King of Jötunheim, swear that I, my brother, our successors and our entire realm will forever keep peace with Asgard and fight by her side against any foe who would dare to attack the Nine Realms."

Byleistr, his expression mulish, repeats Helblindi's vow, although he adds a defiant "is returned to us _today_ ". It's entirely unnecessary considering Helblindi's vow was already conditional on the return of the Casket, but it seems the youngster wanted to remind Loki one more time that he doesn't trust his promises.

Despite the gravity of the moment, Loki has to bite back a grin; perhaps there's slightly more to the younger king than muscle and a pleasant voice after all.

The Casket's pale glow intensifies for a moment once Byleistr has finished his vow; Loki takes one deliberate step back as he slowly lets go of the spell that keeps it floating in the air and gently sets it down on the ground.

"I accept your oaths, Kings of Jötunheim, and I will uphold my end of our bargain. The protective spell on the Casket will wear off an hour after I have left your realm; you will be able to touch it and use it as you see fit then."

"You truly fear Thanos enough to part with it for the sake of this alliance?" Helblindi sounds merely curious, although Loki can feel a swirl of conflicting emotions underneath the facade. Here's another son of Laufey who wears his masks well, it seems.

"If you knew as much about him as I do, you would fear him as well." _He will make you long for something as sweet as pain –_

Loki is quite grateful when Helblindi replies before Loki's memories can catch up with him. "The Aesir foolishly consider it cowardice to fight with magic, but even if that were true, coming here alone with such an offer was not the action of a coward. If what you are saying is true, Loki of Asgard who was once Loptr Laufeyson, you will not find us the least useful of your allies."

Loki inclines his head. "I thank you, King Helblindi."

"You believe we spoke truth, then?" There's a clear challenge in Byleistr's tone, and his older brother shoots him a warning look, but Loki merely shrugs. "I choose to believe that no king of Jötunheim would break an oath sworn in his own blood on his realm's most sacred relic."

He doubts that Byleistr noticed the slight qualifier; if Helblindi did, he doesn't show it. "But it seems to me that there's something else you want to ask me, King Byleistr?"

Loki couldn't be too obvious about setting this particular trap, but he needn't have worried since Byleistr is walking right into it without a moment's deliberation. "Why didn't you include our silence about your true origins in the oath you forced us to swear? What do you think the Aesir would say if someone told them there's a Frost Giant sitting on the throne of Asgard?"

So much for thinking the younger king might have two brain cells to rub together. Silently crowing with glee, Loki schools his expression into regal indifference. "I suppose it would be the end of my reign in Asgard."

Byleistr's face lights up with barely contained triumph. "Then why wouldn't we make it known throughout the Nine who you really are?"

Loki finally doesn't try to bite back his smirk any more. _If you manage to live long enough, my young king of Jötunheim, you might eventually learn that it is extremely dangerous to consider yourself cleverer than your opponent when there's every evidence to the contrary. Next time, listen more closely when Loki Silvertongue gives you an answer; in my experience, only a fool trusts any alliance that is based on nothing but oaths. Fear, however, is another matter entirely – you do not fear the Titan yet, so let me give you something else to be afraid of._

"Because _I_ killed King Laufey."


	17. Chapter 17

_"Because I killed King Laufey."_

Judging by their expressions, only one of Jötunheim's kings understands right away what Loki's declaration means for them.

"A bold claim, Trickster." Once again, Loki can't help being impressed by Helblindi's self-control; the deep, gravelly voice remains calm in spite of the fury flashing in the elder king's eyes. "But still just words, and from one who is known as a liar throughout the realms. Who are your witnesses?"

"Who cares about witnesses?" Byleistr reminds Loki of a hunting dog straining against his leash, even if the boy doesn't dare to shake off Helblindi's hand that is gripping his arm. "I've had enough of his taunts, brother! Are we going to let him stand here and boast about our father's murder? I don't care if –"

Loki raises an eyebrow. "The pup would break his oath scant minutes after he swore it, but you call _me_ a liar, King Helblindi?"

Helblindi shoots him a murderous glare, but otherwise ignores the remark and focuses on Byleistr instead. "Calm yourself, brother, and think – where would Laufey's firstborn son turn if the revelation of his true birth cost him Asgard's throne?"

The look of dawning realization on Byleistr's face would be comical to watch if Loki weren't so busy trying _not_ to remember all those moments when he saw Thor sporting a similar expression. Yet, as it happened all too frequently with Thor as well, Byleistr's understanding only takes him halfway to the point his brother is trying to make. "You truly believe this one could ever challenge us for the throne? This isn't Asgard, where they only care about the order of birth instead of choosing the worthiest heir!"

Loki wishes things were truly so clear-cut on Asgard – the oldest son traditionally has the strongest claim, but there's no law stipulating that the firstborn must always be first in line for the throne. How different would his youth have been if he had grown up believing that he only came second because of an accident of birth that was neither his fault nor a reflection on his character?

"Byleistr." From the sound of it, Helblindi is at the end of his patience. "What would our people say if Laufey's eldest, seiðr-wielding son appeared in their midst and claimed that he slew the king?"

_I owe you my thanks, Queen of Niflheim, for this most helpful piece of information,_ Loki thinks as he watches Byleistr's expression of growing horror, now that the boy finally appears to grasp the full implications of Loki's announcement. If it hadn't been for Hela's twisted pride in her monstrous lineage, he would never have thought to investigate just how valuable Laufey's blood on his hands might prove in his dealings with Jötunheim. _Laufey slew his grandfather and took his throne, which used to be the traditional way of settling the succession among the members of their royal house..._

It seems unwise to give the brothers time to get over their initial shock. "If it is witnesses you want, Kings of Jötunheim, I trust that the word of Frigga Allmother will be enough to convince you _and_ your people that my claim is true?"

_Make your father proud, my king_ –

Loki pushes the memory aside. "Because it was right before her eyes that King Laufey died by my hand."

The silence that follows is answer enough – both Helblindi and Byleistr must be aware that Frigga is probably the only person in Asgard whose testimony not even the Jötnar would gainsay. The Allmother is held in high regard by all the realms, and even Asgard's enemies acknowledge that her Vanir blood sets her apart from the Aesir in spite of the fact that she was Odin's queen.

Loki allows himself a thin, dagger-sharp smile. _What will it be, sons of Laufey? Will you keep my secret, or will you let your people know of my double claim to your throne as your father's firstborn and as the one who slew him? What is more important to you, your kingdom or your revenge?_

"I did not offer you my oath in return for yours, Kings of Jötunheim," he eventually speaks up again when the brothers remain stubbornly silent. "I will promise you this, though: King Loki of Asgard will be your ally – Loptr Laufeyson, rightful heir to the crown of Jötunheim, will claim his birthright and sit on your throne instead of you. The choice is yours, and I advise you to choose wisely."

Helblindi and Byleistr share another complicated look, and Loki experiences a sudden flash of apprehension that he might have overplayed his hand, that they will indeed force him to exchange Asgard for the icy wastelands of their kingdom and rule over a realm of monsters in their stead.

_I, Loki, rightful King of Jötunheim..._

He has no idea where _that_ thought came from, but the feeling of dread that accompanies it is so intense that it makes his stomach clench and his throat close up. Forcing himself to breathe through the rising panic, Loki reminds himself that it has always been a sound strategy to base your gambit on your opponents' greed, that two kings who were willing to share the crown rather than risk losing it altogether won't throw it away just to inconvenience their enemy, no matter how much they might hate him. They might very well try to kill him instead, but –

_Evidently there will be a line._

He has no memory of ever speaking those words, even if it feels like he can hear them in his own voice – but the only thing that matters is that they're true enough, and have been for almost as long as he can remember.

Ironically, the thought manages to calm him. Even if the Jötun rulers should be willing to risk Asgard's retaliation by attacking her king (and he doubts they will while the memory of the Bifröst's devastation of their world still fresh), Loki isn't terribly concerned that they might succeed; he has evaded far more dangerous foes with far less power at his disposal than he wields now, after all.

At long last, Helblindi finds his voice again. "You offer alliance, yet you threaten in the same breath, Liesmith? And you expect us to trust your word?"

"I offered you peace between Asgard and Jötunheim," Loki replies evenly although it costs him some effort not to smirk, "but why should that concern me if I am not of Asgard, but of Jötunheim? Let me speak plainly, sons of Laufey: I have no desire to ever consider myself your brother, but if you force me to _be_ your brother in the eyes of my realm and yours, you will also make me your deadly enemy."

He can't help thinking that Jötunheim's concept of brotherhood between princes seems a lot more honest than Asgard's – because how could those born with equal claims to a prize only one can eventually win possibly be expected to become anything but bitter rivals?

_Only one of you can ascend to the throne, but both of you were born to be kings –_

_You're my brother and my friend – sometimes I'm envious, but never doubt that I love you…_

_Do. Not. Go. There._ Loki digs his nails into his palms and talks right over the unbidden memories.

"That is the choice I'm offering you. If you want me to swear it on my seiðr, I will – but believe me when I tell you that the God of Lies keeps his promises when he chooses to give them."

Helblindi's red eyes are fixed on Loki's as if he were trying to read his mind in them. Loki holds the king's gaze for what feels like a small eternity, although it actually can't be much more than a few heartbeats.

At long last, Helblindi is the first to look away, and Loki finally remembers to draw breath again.

"We have little use for your oath, Loki Odinson," the older king states gravely and tightens his grip on Byleistr's arm before the boy can interrupt him. "We will keep the oaths we swore, and we will keep ruling our father's realm by right of succession as Laufey's only surviving heirs. Loptr Laufeyson was our brother, but he died as a babe on the altar of the Winter Gods, and his name shall remain no more than a cherished memory among his people until the Fimbulwinter turns Yggdrasil itself to ice."

Loki nods with equal gravity. He is almost as uncomfortable with the patronymic by which Helblindi called him than he is with the one his never-brother denied him, but he knew from the moment Gungnir came to his hand that the former was a mask he would have to keep wearing whether he liked it or not. He may not be happy with it, but he has worn enough masks in his life to know that he'll be able to live with this one as well.

"Then I bid you farewell, Kings of Jötunheim, and I ask that you use the Casket to prepare yourselves and your realm so that your allies will find you ready to defend the Nine with them when the time comes."

"It will be done."

Helblindi's solemn declaration, its effects somewhat marred by his younger brother's resentful muttering, is the last thing Loki hears before he steps onto the Secret Path that will lead him back to Asgard. He doesn't need the Tesseract to return to a place he knows so well – and while he has considered calling down the Bifröst to not-so-subtly remind the Jötun kings _and_ their subjects of the dangers of oath-breaking, he doesn't believe it is necessary any longer. His message has been received and understood, so it's probably preferable if Asgard's newest allies keep associating the Bifröst's destructive power with Odin instead of Loki – he _will_ need to make use of this alliance soon enough if he wants to pursue the idea of making contact with the Fire Giants through their Jötun brethren, after all.

Too bad that getting the Jötnar to agree to an alliance with Asgard may have been the easier part of his plan.

+++

Sif whips around with a curse when Loki steps out of the space between worlds right behind her in the middle of the Observatory.

"…my king!" It's obvious that she would love to add a few choice words to the salutation, and the fact that she bites them back almost makes Loki miss the Sif of old who would have punched him in the nose for a stunt like that.

"I didn't mean to startle you, Gatekeeper," he says and allows himself to briefly enjoy the glare she shoots him before he turns serious again. "Do you have anything to report?"

Sif seems taken aback. "As a matter of fact, I do – I was just about to send a message to alert you that I'm seeing strange... things happening on Jötunheim."

Loki raises an eyebrow. He obviously returned not a moment to soon; she's a fast learner indeed. " _Things_?"

Sif's golden eyes lose their focus, and then widen in alarm. "I thought I saw a flash of bright blue energy in the royal citadel of Utgard, and now – there's _something_ in the hands of the kings that shines with the same kind of energy, it... I've never seen this before, but from everything I've heard about it, it looks like –"

"The Casket of Ancient Winters?" Loki finishes for her.

Her eyes snap back to him at once, and then narrow with suspicion. "How did you know? My king?" she adds belatedly as if she had forgotten for a moment who she's talking to.

Loki shrugs with feigned indifference. "I know because I left it there." When Sif's only reaction is shocked silence, he adds with a hint of irony, "I suppose I'd better give you permission to speak freely."

She doesn't even seem to have heard him, but it probably makes no difference at this point. "You left the Casket with the Frost Giants? After your father had to go to war to take it from them because it made them a danger to all the realms? Are you out of your mind?"

"It has been suggested a few times," Loki replies coolly. "However, one might consider it an improvement that your first impulse now is to accuse me of madness instead of treason, don't you think?"

Sif opens her mouth and closes it again, as if her brain had finally caught up with the words she has just yelled at the man she is sworn to serve. She pales, but then squares her shoulders and raises her chin in a way Loki has probably seen a thousand times before. _Ah, there you are, Lady Sif; I knew you were still hiding somewhere underneath the deferential veneer._

"It is not my place to question your decisions, my king, but –"

"– but you'll do it anyway," Loki completes the sentence for her. "So tell me, Sif, since you've apparently made up your mind on the matter already – for what nefarious purpose would I give Jötunheim's most sacred and powerful relic back to the Jötun kings?"

She doesn't avert her gaze, although it seems to cost her some effort. "You admitted yourself that you were the one who let the Jötnar into the Vault before…"

"Before Thor's coronation, yes," Loki continues when she falters as if she couldn't bring herself to mention Thor's name in such a context; he doesn't have time for her sensitivities right now. "Do you seriously believe that I did it out of fondness for the Frost Giants? Haven't you heard that I would have annihilated their entire realm if Thor hadn't stopped me?"

_I could have done it, father! I could have done it! For you! For all of us!_

_No, Loki…_

Brutally reining in his thoughts before they can stray even further down a path he isn't willing to tread again, Loki decides to prod a different, newer kind of sore spot instead. "Satisfy my curiosity, Lady Sif: who do you think killed King Laufey when he tried to assassinate the Allfather?" _And your death came by the son of Odin –_

Sif seems taken aback. "You did, of course. Everyone knows that."

Something eases in Loki's chest at the realization that Frigga, at least, didn't lie to him when she claimed that Asgard's people had been told who had slain Laufey, if not _how_ it had really happened.

"And yet you still suspect me of being in cahoots with his heirs."

"I never said that." At long last, Sif seems to have regained her composure. "However, your people _will_ question your motives once they hear about this, my king. Why would you arm our deadliest enemies at a time when…"

Loki smiles without humor when she falls silent. "Starting to catch on, Sif? If you truly still consider the Jötnar to be our deadliest enemies, you haven't been listening during _any_ of the council meetings you attended."

Sif's face reflects a complicated mix of bewilderment, disbelief and dawning realization. "You expect them to use the Casket to fight against Thanos?"

Loki shrugs. "Actually, I expect them to use it for the restoration of their wretched realm since it has allegedly been dying around them for a millennium. I assume they must indeed need the Casket rather desperately, considering they were willing to pay the price I demanded for returning it to them."

"And the price was – "

"A blood oath to stand with Asgard against the Titan when the time comes."

She's staring at him now, her golden eyes wide with – is that _respect_ he's seeing in her expression? Apparently, there's a first time for everything.

"You managed to force the Frost Giants into an _alliance_ with us? But – you agreed with Tyr when he said it would never happen!"

"Did I?" Loki asks, not too bothered by the fact that the question sounds a little smug. "Or did I just not see the point of discussing the matter since I already knew I was going to prove him wrong?"

Sif takes a deep breath and widens her stance as if she were bracing herself for an attack. "I owe you an apology, my king."

Loki shrugs again. "Had you said what you said without my permission to speak your mind, Gatekeeper, a mere apology would hardly be sufficient at this point. I want you to keep a close watch on the Jötun kings for the time being; I wish to be informed of their every move, and of every way they're using the Casket. Alert me immediately if anything seems the least bit suspicious to you – we have their oaths, but that doesn't mean we should start _trusting_ them."

Sif nods gravely. "I am yours to command, my king."

"Yes, you just gave me ample proof of that." Loki holds up his hand to cut off Sif's retort; he has neither the time nor the inclination to bicker with her. "It seems that your mastery of your Sight is improving by leaps and bounds, so I'm sure you will be able to detect any sign of treachery on the Jötnar's part. Have you yet learned to listen from a distance as well?"

She lowers her eyes. "Not yet, my king; it seemed more important that I learn to See as quickly as possible, so there was no time to –"

"No matter," Loki interrupts her again, "I'm well aware of your dedication to your calling, Gatekeeper, and I don't doubt that you will come into the fullness of your abilities before long."

He isn't worried that Sif might overhear anything he doesn't want her – or anyone on Asgard – to know once she does learn to eavesdrop across realms; of the two Jötun kings, only Byleistr might be stupid enough to try and discuss the secret that would cost him and his brother their throne if they were overheard, and Loki is absolutely certain that Helblindi would immediately put a stop to it if the boy so much as alluded to the dangerous truth of Loki's birth. Loki would disagree with them, but he's sure they're convinced that they have a lot more to lose than he does if that particular truth ever comes to light.

Sif bows in a show of deference that is almost convincing. "I thank you, my king."

Loki is rather glad to see the uncomfortable blush that's coloring her cheeks; embarrassment has ever made her dangerous, and he needs her to focus her resentment on the task he has given her because he _doesn't_ trust his never-brothers in spite of having made sure that they have far more to gain from keeping their oaths than from breaking them. He isn't going to tell her that, of course; he just gives her a nod and then steps back into the Space Between.

+++

He reappears only seconds later in his – blessedly empty – study and is greeted by a caw from the direction of the windowsill where Hugin is grooming his ruffled feathers. An indignant squawk gives away Munin's location; the second raven is perched on the backrest of Loki's desk chair and glares daggers at his brother.

With a frown, Loki steps closer; there are several black feathers on the floor next to the desk, indicating that the ravens have been fighting _again_. He has never seen them at odds during the Allfather's lifetime, so it seems rather ironic that they should start quarrelling as soon as they were serving Loki instead of Odin. Then again, the Allfather did accuse him of bringing war and ruin wherever he went –

Only he _didn't_ , because Loki can't remember Odin ever saying anything like that to him even though it feels like he can still hear the words resounding in his mind.

Apparently, facing his monstrous kin has shaken him more deeply than he'd care to admit.

Loki draws a long, unsteady breath and exhales slowly in an attempt to get his body's belated reaction under control. His hands are shaking again, and he has to suppress the urge to stare at them until he can be certain that they're no longer blue, that the disfiguring lines he owes to a mother whose name he never wanted to learn are not visible any more.

And yet – he can hide the evidence of his accursed lineage under a pale, green-eyed facade, but he can't purge it from his blood, can't exorcise the blue-skinned demons that have been haunting him ever since the day he'd tricked _himself_ by goading Thor into attacking Jötunheim.

_Never one for sentiment, were you?_

Loki startles so badly that it feels like his heart is about to break free from his chest when the terribly familiar voice speaks up beside him. It can't be, it absolutely can't be – but he's here, _Thor_ is here, standing right next to the raven perching on Loki's chair, and Loki can only stare at him, frozen to the spot in a way he would probably find ironic if he weren't so utterly unable to think right now.

Thor's smile is sad with a hint of condescension, as if Loki had just disappointed him in a manner he always saw coming.

_Let's be honest, our paths diverged a long time ago._

Munin screeches and takes flight, and Thor takes a step closer, and then another –

Loki's seiðr explodes out of him in a shockwave of blinding green light. He hasn't lost control of his power like that since the early days of his adolescence, but now it lashes out towards the apparition that _can't_ be his brother with the pure, instinctual panic of a trapped animal. The papers covering Loki's desk are sent flying as if caught in a gale, and deep in his bones, he can feel a strangely discordant vibration jarring the ever-present, steady pulse of Asgard's magic.

Then everything goes quiet again.

Loki has to brace himself on his desk to prevent his legs from giving out; he's out of breath as if he'd just been running for his life, and his heart is still hammering against his ribs like a bird trying to escape its cage.

He's also entirely alone; the ravens have fled, and there's no sign of the specter that looked and sounded so much like Thor –

_Enough of this! You never feared Thor while he lived, but you would let a lingering echo terrify you?_

Breathing deeply in order to steady his racing heartbeat, Loki finally manages to get a grip on himself. He has no idea what just happened – during the first days after his return to Asgard, he had constantly felt like he was seeing glimpses of Thor in every shadow, but it has been months now since his eyes stopped playing those tricks on him. Did he really allow the creatures who share his blood to unsettle him _that_ badly?

Or perhaps, he thinks with enough self-deprecation to _almost_ deaden the hot sting of shame, Sif had it right and he's finally losing his mind.


	18. Chapter 18

"My king, with all due respect –"

Loki raises an eyebrow at the ominous opening; in his experience, it's a safe bet to assume that the phrase 'with all due respect' will never be followed by anything genuinely respectful. "Yes, Lord Fjorgynn?"

Odin's old chancellor looks as if he'd taken a sip of vinegar. "If I understand you correctly, you are telling us that you allowed the Dark Elves to take possession of Svartalfheim again, and that you personally returned their most powerful weapon to the _Frost Giants_?"

Loki refuses to be baited by the barely veiled belligerence in the old man's tone. "I wouldn't have thought that my account was in any way unclear."

"Oh, you were perfectly clear, _my king_." Fjorgynn has dropped all pretense and is sneering openly now. "However, I'm having trouble believing that I actually heard you correctly."

Loki shrugs. "Hearing difficulties are hardly surprising in a man your age, but I'd still recommend you consult Lady Eir given that the problem seems to be impeding your service on this council."

Lord Fjorgynn's face turns purple while Lady Gullveig cackles openly and a few other councilors snicker under their breath. "I will not –"

Loki cuts him off with an impatient gesture. "Enough of this. General Tyr, does your apparent eagerness to speak indicate a similar hearing problem on your part?"

The old soldier narrows his eyes for a moment, but his tone remains even. "Not at all, my king; you were indeed perfectly clear. Might I _respectfully_ ask why you didn't inform us of your plans before you carried them out? It's rather difficult to fulfil our duty of advising you if we only learn of your decisions after they have already been made."

"Fair enough." Loki holds the general's gaze with deliberate calm – Odin's old guard was a lost cause from the beginning, but Tyr's support in this matter would actually make his life quite a bit easier as he moves his plans forward. "Had I informed you beforehand that I saw a way to bring about an alliance with both the Jötnar and the Svartálfar at the price of some strategic concessions, what would you have said?"

He smiles thinly when Tyr makes a face instead of answering. "That's what I thought."

"My king, if I may…" Lady Irpa, bless her diplomatic heart, at least sounds like she's genuinely asking for his permission to speak. At Loki's nod, she continues, "I freely admit that I would not have considered such a feat possible, but can we truly trust the Svartálfar and the Jötnar to keep faith with us? They have been our bitter enemies for many centuries, after all."

 _For a realm that considers itself the crown jewel of Yggdrasil, there's indeed a staggering number of people who hate us_. Loki knows better than to voice that thought, though; instead, he turns towards Sif, who hasn't spoken a word since the beginning of the meeting. "Gatekeeper?"

"As per your orders, my king, I've been keeping a close watch on Svartalfheim and Jötunheim." Sif's businesslike tone doesn't give away her personal opinion on the issue. "The Svartálfar are hardly more than a small band of refugees at this point; they're currently dwelling in those parts of their old underground capital that aren't completely caved in yet, and they have dismantled the single ship they still possessed and are using the parts to make their… city, for lack of a better term, somewhat habitable again. They are in no position to become a threat to us in the foreseeable future, and might even need assistance if we want them to regain enough fighting power to be of any help in the upcoming fight against Thanos."

Loki nods gravely. "Then we should offer that assistance, don't you think, Lady Irpa?"

Asgard's leading diplomat leans forward in her seat like a hunting dog picking up a scent. "I do indeed, my king; the moment would be ideal if we wish to –"

"They killed your father and your brother!" Loki wouldn't have thought that Lord Fjorgynn's face could get any redder, but the man is proving him wrong now. "Those elvish swine slew Asgard's king and her prince, and you would offer them aid?"

The council table goes dead quiet at the outburst, but it's not Loki towards whom all heads are turning; it's Frigga.

The queen dowager has gone very pale. "You are disgracing yourself by even asking such a question, Lord Fjorgynn," she says in a sharp, clear voice that doesn't sound at all like the mother Loki has known all his life. "Unlike you, who were cowering in your quarters at the time, I was in the thick of the battle during Malekith's final attack, and I saw with my own eyes how my son called his fallen father's spear to him to avenge the crimes committed against the House of Odin, and to slay every last Dark Elf who had dared to raise a hand against Asgard's people. If your king, who has lost more to the Svartálfar than anyone else, can bring himself to extend a hand towards the pitiful remainder of their people for the sake of Asgard's own future, are you truly telling me that _you_ will not?"

Lord Fjorgynn averts his eyes and doesn't reply. Loki knows he needs to bring the focus back to the matter at hand, but there's a lump in his throat that makes it hard to breathe, let alone speak right now.

It's Sif of all people who comes to his rescue. "May I give the rest of my report, my king?" At Loki's terse nod, she continues as if the interruption had never happened, "The kings of Jötunheim are currently travelling all across their realm with the Casket of Ancient Winters. I cannot yet tell exactly what they are doing with it, but it appears that the Casket has the power to stabilize those areas that have become uninhabitable over the last centuries. The former swamp to the north of Utgard is now a field of solid ice, and many of the city's inhabitants are erecting new buildings there."

"Fortifications?" General Tyr asks, but Sif shakes her head. "None that I can see; it's mostly small houses and stables. They have repaired the outer walls of the citadel, and there's a low wall around the new buildings as well, but it's barely more than a fence, just high enough to prevent beasts of prey from coming into the city."

Tyr doesn't seem reassured. "That doesn't mean they won't move on to military defenses once their most pressing problems are taken care of."

"I should hope so," Loki interjects, secretly relieved that his voice comes out sounding perfectly normal. "They'll hardly be in a position to stand with us in the fight against the Titan if they can't even defend their own homes."

Tyr clearly isn't happy with Loki's argument even if he can't refute it. Loki is well aware that this is truly the heart of the issue – Tyr fought in the last war against Jötunheim and remembers the former might of the Frost Giants only too well, and many other veterans will be even less willing than the general to defer to Loki's judgement when it comes to Asgard's archenemies being allowed to regain their old strength. "My king, it is not my place to question your decisions" – Loki shoots Sif a quick glance and allows himself a tiny smirk at her pinched expression – "but how are we supposed to put any stock in this alliance? A blood oath is no small matter, but you were the only witness, so who would even know of their perjury if Laufey's brood broke it? Their subjects would hardly take your word for it, and –"

"The Casket would know." Lady Gullveig shoots General Tyr a dirty look when he doesn't quite suppress a scoff at her remark. "Don't you roll your eyes at me, General – there are only three people in this room who really understand what it means to bind yourself in word and blood to a magical object of such power as the Casket, and I can say with certainty that you're not among them. No ruler of Jötunheim would dare to break such an oath outright, although they might try to find ways around it, so you still shouldn't trust them, my king."

"I don't," Loki replies curtly. "I don't think I need to remind anyone here just how much I hate that accursed realm and the creatures that inhabit it –"

_You could never have a Frost Giant sitting on the throne of Asgard!_

_I will have destroyed that race of monsters –_

He can't bring himself to meet Frigga's eyes, but at least the uneasy expressions he sees on the other faces around the table confirm that the councilors don't doubt the truth of his words. Odin laid his foundations of lies well, although Loki is certain that the Allfather wouldn't have done it if he had foreseen that his Jötun changeling would be able to build a throne for himself on them.

"– but I'll repeat what the Allmother said a moment ago: if _I_ can stomach doing what needs to be done for Asgard's sake, I will demand the same of you."

_Have I made you proud, Mother?_

The thought sends a pang through him he can't explain, but this is neither the time nor the place to dwell on it.

"Is there anything else the council needs to know about Jötunheim at this juncture, Gatekeeper?"

"There is not, my king." Sif shoots Loki a questioning look, which can only mean that she's asking whether she should bring up the rest of the observations she reported to him last night. When he doesn't react at all, she interprets it correctly as an order to keep her silence, although the small crease between her eyebrows indicates that she isn't too happy with his decision.

"If I might make a suggestion, my king?" Lord Vidar is probably the least notable of Odin's old councilors; his one distinctive feature is his unctuous, oily voice that has always made Loki's skin crawl. "It might be wise to limit knowledge of your agreements with Jötunheim and Svartalfheim to the members of this council, at least for the time being. Whispers of Thanos' approach are already spreading among the common people, and since I doubt your subjects would be able to understand the reasoning behind your decisions, it might upset them further if they heard of the Casket returning to Jötunheim and the Dark Elves resettling on their old realm."

Lady Gullveig snorts in an entirely unladylike fashion. "If the council is so good at keeping secrets, how did those rumors about Thanos get started in the first place?"

"The question is as interesting as it is, unfortunately, pointless," Loki steps in before Gullveig's jibe triggers a full-blown argument; he knows _exactly_ how those whispers started, after all. "Are you implying, Lord Vidar, that you want me to keep the people of Asgard in the dark about the dangers they will have to face?"

There are nods and murmurs of assent all around. "Rumors and fearmongering can be more detrimental to an army's morale than anything else," Tyr points out. "Asgard will meet any foe head-on when she has to, but a wise commander never shares information his soldiers don't need to have. Besides, the upcoming meeting of the Thing means the whole palace is crawling with people from all over the countryside, and anything they hear is bound to spread throughout the whole realm as soon as the speakers return to their homes."

"Yes, now of all times, we need to nip any kind of gossip in the bud before it can get out of hand," Lord Vidar seconds. "Since you are about to speak before the Thing, my king, I implore you to remember that your people are looking to you for guidance and stability, not uncertainty and complicated political maneuvers they couldn't possibly comprehend."

"I will keep it in mind," Loki replies as solemnly as he can manage. He finds it rather reassuring to see Frigga close her eyes for a second as if she couldn't believe the sheer amount of stupidity he has to deal with. He has been aware all his life that those in Odin's innermost circle didn't consider the second prince important enough to truly get to know him, but now he has to wonder whether any of them have actually _met_ him before.

_You would leash the God of Lies into telling the lies you want to hear, Lord Vidar? Greater men than you have tried and come to regret it._

"Speaking of the Thing, I believe it is almost time for me to address the assembly. Is the council with me?"

It's the chancellor's prerogative to answer the king's traditional question that marks the end of a council meeting, although Lord Fjorgynn sounds like he'd rather swallow his own tongue than speak the age-old formula. "The council will follow wherever you lead, my king."

"I am glad to hear it." Loki rises and, while the councilors scramble to their feet, waves a hand to dispel the glamour he's wearing. The illusion of plain green robes melts away to reveal his ceremonial armor, although he has foregone the helm; today of all days, the people of Asgard will need to see his face.

"Oh, just one more thing," he adds almost conversationally and notes with satisfaction how the councilors fall into apprehensive silence, "I would not advise you to ever take such a tone with me again as you did earlier, Lord Fjorgynn. Do I make myself clear?"

The old man blanches and looks around as if asking for support, but the other councilors are studiously avoiding his eyes. _Asgard might meet her foes head-on_ , Loki thinks with bitter amusement, _but her rats can be trusted to stay well clear of a ship that's in danger of sinking_.

On the bright side, the next time the old fool oversteps his bounds (and he will), Loki can finally risk appointing a chancellor who might _not_ oppose him at every turn.

Then Frigga is beside him and takes the arm he offers her. The sidelong glance she gives him holds a clear warning, but Loki has never been one for playing it safe, and it's definitely too late to start now that the dice are already rolling.

 


	19. Chapter 19

Loki has never seen the throne room so packed; the size of the crowd that awaits him in the cavernous golden hall dwarfs even the audience of Thor's ill-fated coronation. Back then, it was mostly courtiers and inhabitants of the palace who attended the ceremony, but now Loki is about to face the Allthing, which has never been summoned during his lifetime before; Asgard hasn't seen representatives of every Aesir family from the entire realm gathered in one place since Odin took the throne.

Were this a year like any other, the annual meeting of the Thing would take place in the Thingstead, a wide, open courtyard in an outlying part of the palace, and consist of no more than a few dozen elected lawspeakers who each represented a district, sometimes even an entire province of Asgard. The speakers would not even get to see the king unless they were debating topics of unusual importance, but such decisions are rarely left to the Thing in the first place. For the most part, it's the Thing's duty to deal with legal matters of so little significance that the royal courts should not be bothered with them, and given the mind-numbing triviality of the cases Loki has had to decide personally since his coronation, he doesn't even want to imagine what kind of trifles are usually left to the Thing's judgment.

The system seems in desperate need of a complete overhaul, but Loki doubts he will have the leisure to invest time and energy in a juridical reform in the foreseeable future.

It's not the reason he summoned the Allthing instead of just convening a regular Thing, either. It is customary for a newly crowned king to attend the first Thing meeting of his reign so the lawspeakers can pay homage to their new ruler on behalf of the entire populace, and Loki is well aware that he doesn't have the standing yet to do things halfway where royal traditions are concerned.

Addressing the Thing is also a new ruler's first opportunity to speak to the entirety of Asgard's populace, not just to the members of the lofty, mostly segregated community inside the palace walls. Loki is still a little surprised that his opponents on the council don't seem more alarmed by the prospect – if he were in the place of Odin's old paladins, he'd do everything in his power to prevent the annoying upstart on the throne from circumventing their authority and reaching out to the common people directly.

Maybe it's what happens when your entire life is centered around the court – at some point, you lose sight of the fact that you're caught in a tiny bubble that only appears stable to those on the inside, but is really fragile enough to burst at the first contact with an outside force. If the last few years have taught Loki anything, it's the danger inherent in this specific kind of blindness.

With that in mind, he tries to get an impression of the crowd's mood as he ascends the steps to Hliðskjálf while Frigga and the councilors take their allotted places on both sides of the dais below the throne. There's none of the celebratory exuberance that was palpable back then, when everyone was awaiting the crowning of their golden prince; now the people seem tense and uncertain, and while the low buzz of murmurs and whispers doesn't sound hostile, there's not much anticipation to it either.

Then again, it's not like Loki expected any enthusiasm from his subjects. The ever-present feeling of wrongness, of being an impostor in his own life, wants to creep back in, but he has learned by now to keep a firm grip on it, and he will not allow his discomfort to distract him.

Taking a deep breath, Loki turns and sits down on the throne under the beady eyes of Odin's ravens, who are perched on the backrest like two ominous black shadows. The spear in his hand pulses softly with Asgard's magic, and this, at least, has begun to feel familiar enough to calm him a little. The thousands of faces staring up at him look neither joyful nor discontent, but mostly just expectant; clearly, the people of Asgard have still not made up their minds about their new king.

Since this is nominally a Thing meeting, Loki will not speak first; instead, a wizened old man who's leaning heavily on a wooden staff makes his way halfway up the steps to the throne, where he bends his knee with considerable difficulty. At the bottom of the stairs, people fall to their knees as well, triggering a wave of movement that sweeps through the hall in an ever-expanding circle like ears of corn falling under the scythe at harvest time. Once again, Loki finds it discomforting rather than satisfying to see everyone kneel before him; there was a time when he believed that there was no truer expression of reverence, but now that he has found out how little it takes to bring people to their knees, he has also been forced to realize just how little it actually means.

He has only ever knelt before two rulers, Odin and Thanos, but it didn't make him faithful to either of them.

"My king!" The old man's voice is reedy and worn, but still firm; he doesn't meet Loki's eyes when he speaks, though. "I, Harald Hadubrandson, Chief Lawspeaker of the Thing, hail you as Asgard's rightful ruler in the name of the speakers who are gathered before you, and of Asgard's entire citizenry. We pledge to you our fealty, our obedience, and the strength of our arms; may the Norns bless you and keep you wise, just, and ever victorious for as long as you shall reign over us."

At Loki's nod, the Chief Lawspeaker uses his staff to pull himself upright again and turns towards the audience. "Long live the king!"

"Long live the king!" Thanks to the sheer size of the crowd, the hall reverberates with the people's response, although it sounds more dutiful than heartfelt.

Harald Hadubrandson returns to his place among his fellow lawspeakers as everyone in the hall scrambles to their feet again; the commotion grants Loki a few more seconds to get his nerves under control. He _is_ nervous – his heartbeat is overly loud in his own ears, and his palms are so damp with sweat that he doesn't dare to hold Gungnir too tightly for fear of the spear slipping from his grasp once he rises to address the crowd. While he is used to relying on his words to be his strongest weapon, he has always been better at working from the sidelines than in the center of attention. Rallying the masses was ever Thor's forte, not Loki's, and Thor didn't need cleverly crafted speeches to make everyone fall in line behind him.

Then again, after a youth spent in the towering shadows of Odin Allfather and the God of Thunder, Loki is well used to appearing sure of himself when he his anything but.

Keeping his movements dignified and unhurried, Loki rises from the throne and walks down the steps to the center of the dais that is flanked by Frigga and his council, although he is careful not to look at any of them. Standing at the edge of the platform, his position is still elevated enough to ensure that everyone in the hall can see him, while he's no longer so high above them on his golden throne that he would appear deliberately aloof.

"Honored lawspeakers, and good people of Asgard!"

Loki infuses his voice with a touch of seiðr to ensure that it will carry until the far end of the hall without making him sound like he's shouting himself hoarse.

"It is never a happy occasion when a new king addresses the Allthing, since it always means that Asgard is mourning the loss of the king who came before him. It is even less so today, when Asgard's loss has been twofold, and her people are grieving for their king and their prince."

There are a dozen traditional phrases Loki should have said at the beginning of his speech, but the hush that falls over the crowd at the opening he chose instead proves that he was correct to forego protocol in this.

"I wish I had words to soothe your grief; that I could promise you a brighter future that will heal the wounds our realm has suffered, but if I did, I would be lying to you."

The audience is silent enough to hear a pin drop now; whatever the people expected to hear from him, _that_ certainly wasn't it. The soft rustling of clothes behind him tells him that some of his councilors are shifting on their feet, but he trusts Frigga to keep them in line.

"I know that most of you have already heard of the new, greater danger we will have to face, but you deserve truth instead of whispers and rumors. Yes, it is true that Thanos the Mad Titan has set his sights on the Nine."

The sound of fake coughs and frantic whispers from the direction of the council is drowned out by the murmur that rises from the crowd like the growl of a waking beast. Oh yes, they were already well aware of every rumor, every story told in hushed tones of the deadly threat that might reach them all too soon. It wasn't for nothing that Loki has spent nights on end walking among the people in the palace, the city, and lately in the inns and taverns where the lawspeakers have taken their lodgings. He has worn a dozen different faces and has told a dozen slightly different tales, all of them containing enough truth to plant the seed of fear in the hearts of the listeners. Unlike the more sensible realms, Asgard may have dismissed and forgotten the old lore of Thanos, but now her people have been convinced of the approaching danger in the most effective way there is – by having a complete stranger whisper it in their ear over a tankard of mead in a dingy inn.

Loki would have enjoyed the whole undertaking a lot more if the fear he was spreading around weren't also his own.

He raises a hand and is pleased to note that the crowd falls silent at once. "I cannot tell you how long it will take him to reach us, whether Asgard will have to fight him in a year, a decade, or a century. He is on his way, though; _that_ I know for certain." Loki turns his head to the side as if looking back over his shoulder towards Hliðskjálf, the throne from which the entirety of the cosmos is laid out before the king's Sight. He isn't going to lie to the Allthing, but that doesn't mean he can't lead the lawspeakers towards the same wrong conclusions his council has already drawn.

"People of Asgard, I will not hide under honeyed words what I know to be true – this is a foe unlike any other we have faced before. The Titan moves through the universe like a reaper through a cornfield, his mind set on doling out death and destruction, and I know of no realm that has been able to withstand him."

 _Yet Midgard slipped through his fingers, and I will_ not _think of the price I will pay for it if he ever gets hold of me again._

Loki does his best to suppress the churning of dread in his gut; he is growing tired of being afraid, and there are more useful things to focus his mind on.

"There are those on my council who think that I should spare you the truth; that your courage might waver at the prospect of battling such a foe, and that it would be better to allow you the bliss of ignorance for as long as possible."

Several sharp intakes of breath behind Loki's back give him a good idea of the impression his words have made on his councilors, but they're nothing compared to the hissing that comes from the crowd. Loki can't turn around and smirk at Lord Fjorgynn (even though he is sorely tempted), but he is still certain that his message has been received – the people of Asgard are _not_ used to being called cowards, and they are going to remember the insult if any of the councilors should ever try to incite them against their king.

_Oh yes, my fat old Lords of the council, I'm sure you would prefer it if you could dangle your knowledge of my scandalous plans over my head and bring me to heel with the threat of exposing my scheming to the people. Did it never occur to you that they call me Liesmith because I bend the truth to my will until it becomes a weapon in my hand, and that I am far better at wielding it than you will ever be?_

"I am certain that my councilors mean well, but I do not rule over a realm of children." This time, Loki doesn't even need to raise his hand in order to silence the crowd. "You are Aesir, free men and women of Asgard; I firmly believe that you will face any foe and fight any battle if Asgard's survival requires it. Am I wrong?"

The crowd's "NO!" is an earsplitting roar that echoes through the hall like a thunderclap. Loki does indeed believe them; the willingness to rush headlong into danger is a character trait Asgard has always treasured above anything else in her people, while those cursed with enough intelligence to see where such 'courage' leads would find themselves branded as cowards and spineless schemers.

_Some do battle, others just do tricks –_

Loki tamps down on the memory with practiced ease. Things have gone exactly as planned so far, but this has been the simple part; the real challenge begins now.

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We left Loki mid-speech last time, so this is the direct continuation of that scene. Confession: I have been dreading this chapter ever since I first realized that Loki had to address the people of Asgard at some point, and trying to write a speech worthy of the Silvertongue has been even more of a struggle than I imagined. The result is long and basically just one big Loki monologue, so I can only hope it doesn't drag too much. (Maybe it helps to imagine it in Tom Hiddleston's voice? ;-)

Loki waits for the last indignant shouts of denial to die down before he continues.

"I never doubted this would be your reply, honored speakers, just as I am convinced that no citizen of Asgard would ever answer differently. Yet, we have in the past been prone to confusing courage with foolhardiness, and it _would_ be foolhardy to take for granted that Asgard will prevail against this greatest of enemies when nobody else could before."

It isn't lost on him how the crowd's mood darkens further at his words, although the people do not look affronted any more – rather, they seem confused, as if he had started speaking to them in a language they can't fully understand. He doesn't have much time now; it usually doesn't take the Aesir long to move from confusion to anger.

"You will not like what I am about to say, just as I do not like having to say it – but I know that you will be able to face the truth even if it doesn't please you."

He actually doesn't know that at all – on the contrary, Asgard is extremely fond of her comfortable delusions and, in Loki's experience, quick to lash out at anybody who has the audacity to scratch the shiny surface and reveal the rot underneath; it will be up to him to steer the people in a different direction.

What was it Frigga said to him about twisting paths on the day he became king?

"So hear me, men and women of Asgard: it has been a millennium since anyone last dared to contest Asgard's supremacy over the entirety of Yggdrasil, and we have allowed ourselves to believe that none will ever do so again in the future." Loki doesn't give the audience time to react with fresh indignation to this statement. "The fact that _I_ am the one who is standing before you as your king today should be all the proof you need that we have been overestimating our own invulnerability."

_Thor and Odin's funeral barge dissolving into a million sparks that light up the blackness of the Void before dispersing into the eternal darkness –_

The gasp of a collective drawn breath proves that Loki's words have hit their mark; now to twist the knife before the people can recover from the blow.

"We have all of us felt safe in the knowledge that one day, Gungnir would pass from the hands of Odin Allfather to those of the God of Thunder, who would rule just as gloriously as his predecessor. None ever expected that the task of leading Asgard into the greatest battle she has ever faced would fall to the _other_ prince, the Spell-Weaver, the Master of Chaos – and least of all did I expect it myself."

_Both of you were born to be kings –_

"Yet the Norns have seen fit to put _me_ on this throne, and have left it to me to guard the Nine Realms against any who would threaten her. I do not know what they intended by leaving me with this burden, but I will shoulder it to the best of my abilities and do what I must for the good of Asgard, and the survival of the Nine."

Loki isn't sure whether the lawspeakers noticed or understood the slight emphasis on ' _my_ abilities', but he is certain that his councilors will have no trouble interpreting it correctly. The tension in the room is almost palpable, but at least Loki can be sure he has everyone's undivided attention.

"The mortals of Midgard once called me Skywalker with good reason." He sees a few bewildered frowns at the apparent non-sequitur. "I have wandered far and wide throughout the Nine, and I have seen more of the cosmos than anyone else on Asgard who still draws breath." Heimdall would probably disagree, but Loki hopes that Sif, at least, can be made to understand that even the gatekeeper's Sight can only ever look in from afar, but never replace the experience of walking the paths of a different world in the flesh.

"At the time, I could avert my eyes whenever I encountered things I did not wish to see, but now that I am entrusted with Asgard's future, I must not allow my judgement to be clouded by comfortable preconceptions any longer. Asgard prides herself on her role as defender of the Nine, as the benevolent sovereign who keeps the peace between the lesser realms for their own good, but that is not at all how the other realms perceive us. I have seen very little of the respect we think they owe us, and far less fear of Asgard's might than we have been taught to expect; what I have seen in abundance is hatred and resentment. What we call peace, they call subjugation and oppression; where we consider Asgard's king the supreme protector of the Nine Realms, eight of those consider him a tyrant determined to keep them under his yoke for the sake of his own people's gain."

He pauses for a moment to let that sink in. "I have been aware of this for a long time, and it used to trouble me just as little as it evidently troubles you." There are a few terse chuckles among the crowd, but for the most part, they still seem uncertain what he's driving at.

"Indeed, why should we care what the lesser realms think of us? Is it not enough that we know our rule over the Nine to be just and honorable, even if their malevolence or simplicity prevents them from understanding it? Is it not our right, nay, our duty to curb their excesses, to protect them from their own follies, and to place Asgard's needs above everything else just like she is placed above all others on the branches of Yggdrasil? Should the other realms not consider their freedom a small price to pay for the knowledge that Asgard will always keep them safe?"

There are approving murmurs all around as the crowd seems to emerge from their confusion. This is far more like the speech they expected to hear from their new king; the old litany of Asgard's greatness and glory is so familiar that they apparently didn't even notice Loki's deliberate hyperbole. Yes, Odin Allfather would probably not have put things quite as bluntly, but Loki is a new ruler still learning his ways, and he has, after all, only said out loud what Asgard has, in her heart of hearts, always known to be true.

The audience is finally beginning to relax – until Loki's next sentence cuts through their relief like a blade through flesh.

"What happens, though, if we _cannot_ keep them safe?"

The hush that falls over the crowd is more than he had dared to hope for – he was expecting more annoyed muttering, if not the open outrage this question would have caused if he were speaking to Asgard's warriors instead of her lawspeakers.

"Like you, people of Asgard, I would like to keep believing that it could never happen, that there can be no danger to the Nine we can't ward off on our own – but we all know I wouldn't be standing here with Gungnir in my hand if that were actually true." Loki allows a hint of anger to slip into his tone. "A mere band of Elven raiders managed to break through our defenses, and all of Asgard's might could not prevent them from slaying our king and our prince. Yes, we defeated them in the end, but can a battle won at such a cost still be considered a victory? How many such 'victories' can Asgard afford, when we are about to face the most powerful enemy who ever threatened the Nine?"

Loki looks into wide eyes and pale faces and knows he's on the right track. No, these _aren't_ warriors – they are citizens of Asgard and know how to fight when they have to, but they do not live for battle like the warriors do; their lives are filled with farm work and crafts and trade, with the ordinary concerns of people who care little about warfare and inter-realm politics as long as they don't affect the comfortable normalcy of their existence. Now they can feel the foundation of their existence crumbling underneath them, and it might just scare them enough to actually _listen_ to him.

"This, honored lawspeakers, is what I saw when I first sat on the throne and looked at the realm I was going to rule: a kingdom that has become both complacent and arrogant in its conviction of its own superiority while the realms we claim to protect are eagerly awaiting our downfall so they may finally cast off the yoke they have been under for millennia. It was an insight that gave me no joy; like you, I would have preferred to keep believing in the strength and righteousness of Asgard's reign, in the unerring wisdom of Odin Allfather and his predecessors, and in the invincible might of his heir."

Belatedly, and to his own surprise, Loki realizes that every word he just said is true.

"They call me the God of Lies for a reason, though – for I know better than most that every lie comes at a price, and the price for lying to _myself_ is one I can no longer afford now that I am Asgard's king." Loki finds himself glad that he can't see Frigga's expression from where he is standing. "Ever since I ascended the throne, I have been searching for a way to keep my people safe, to prepare them for the threats they must face, and I am willing to do _anything_ I have to for the sake of Asgard's survival."

He tightens his grip on Gungnir; the next part will be unpleasant. "You all know that a short while ago, a group of Frost Giants tried to assassinate the Allfather. I was able to thwart their attempt, and until my dying day will I treasure the memory of slaying their treacherous king with my own hands." Loki doesn't even try to mask the hate-filled disgust in his voice; for once, he _wants_ everyone to see his emotions written plainly on his face. "Yet I didn't consider the death of but a few sufficient punishment for such a transgression; I meant to make an example of Laufey's entire realm, so that none would ever think again they could attack Asgard with impunity. If I had had my way, Jötunheim would not exist any more, and the only regret I have in that regard is the fact that I was prevented from completing my task."

The crowd's eyes on him make him feel as if he had been stripped naked before them, and the knowledge that it's necessary doesn't make him hate the sensation any less. It will not be possible to convince the people of anything unless they first _believe_ him, though, and they never will if they don't get to witness the spectacle of him baring his soul before their prying gazes. His only consolation is the fact that none but Frigga are aware that he is hiding his real motives in plain sight, just like the pale skin they're seeing will never allow them to guess at the blue abomination underneath. He is still determined not to tell a single outright lie this day, but there are so many flavors of truth that he can pick the most promising one, and he will consider his discomfort a small price to pay if it gets him the result he needs. He remembers Sif's initial reaction to the matter only too well, and he can't risk sending the lawspeakers' thoughts down the same path.

Loki inhales deeply, and takes the plunge. "If it were up to me, I would have held on to my hatred for Jötunheim until Ragnarök tears the world asunder, but it is a luxury I can no longer afford in the face of a far bigger threat to Asgard's very existence. Therefore, I have met with Kings Helblindi and Byleistr of Jötunheim, and we are agreed that the Nine can only prevail against the Mad Titan if we manage to set our mutual enmity aside and stand together to face him."

Behind Loki, the councilors start their frantic coughing again, although Lord Fjorgynn sounds like he's in actual danger of choking on his tongue. Loki pays them no heed; he needs to focus on the people before him, who are staring at him with a mix of shock and dismay. _They_ are the ones he needs to convince – once he manages that, there's absolutely nothing his Lords of the council can still do about it now that he's laying all his cards on the table.

"I do not like the idea of an alliance with Jötunheim any more than you do, honored lawspeakers, but we can't risk having the Frost Giants plotting against us behind our backs while we're fighting the Titan. Ever since the Great War, the Jötnar have been clamoring for the return of the Casket of Ancient Winters, the magical heart of their miserable realm; I have granted their request in return for the kings' blood oath, sworn on that very Casket, to stand with Asgard when the time comes. I know better than to trust them, but I _also_ know how to administer a magically binding oath in a way that makes it impossible for them to break it."

By now, the audience is slowly coming out of their shocked stupor, but Loki silences the rising whispers with a quick gesture. "Yes, having the Jötnar for allies is a bitter draught to swallow, but allies we must have if we are to survive the war ahead of us. I do not ask you to like it, people of Asgard; only to accept it as a sacrifice we all have to make for the sake of our realm's future. For the same reason, I have given the few surviving Dark Elves leave to resettle on Svartalfheim."

This time, the muttering takes longer to die down – unlike the millennium-old scars Asgard still bears from the Great War against the Jötnar, the wound inflicted by the Svartálfar has barely scabbed over.

"None of those who were complicit in Malekith's attack on Asgard still live." Again, Loki doesn't have to feign the barely suppressed fury in his tone; he may still not be certain how he feels about Thor's death, but he _is_ certain that he would never have allowed anyone but himself to lay a finger on his brother. "If I could follow my own heart, I would long have finished the work that King Bor started when he all but wiped the Dark Elves from the face of the cosmos. Yet a Svartalfheim rebuilt, and beholden to Asgard, means another shield in Yggdrasil's defense. The time of Asgard's supreme rule over the Nine is irrevocably past, and I will not waste our strength on endless struggles to keep the other realms under our heel any more; instead, I would have us spearhead an alliance of all Nine Realms so we may prevail against the Titan."

The small, self-deprecating smile he manages may be the closest thing to a lie he has allowed himself since he began to speak. "Even though I was never meant for Asgard's throne, I still received a prince's education in statecraft when I was young, and I remember being told repeatedly that only tyrants require cowed subjects, while a just king rules over a free and proud people. It seems to me that while we have always applied this principle to our own realm, Asgard may have forgotten about it as far as the others are concerned."

He can hear his councilors fidget again, and there are many in the crowd who seem equally uncomfortable; Loki reckons few would appreciate the irony of having their own double standards pointed out to them by the God of Lies of all people. He doesn't give a damn about the Aesir concept of honor, now that even Mjölnir's judgement of 'worth' has been proven for a sham, but he has always been more than happy to use Asgard's hypocrisy for his own gain if it suited him.

"No king of Asgard would ever have marched into battle with an army of slaves at his back, and I won't do so either when I am rallying the Nine's defenses against the Titan. I have been in talks with Vanaheim and Alfheim for several months now, and the treaties I am forging with the clans of Nidavellir will ensure that our warriors do not lack in Dwarven weapons. King Helblindi of Jötunheim has agreed to reach out to the Eldjötnar of Muspelheim on my behalf" – there's no mistaking Lord Vidar's horrified wheeze as well as Lady Irpa's barely suppressed sound of glee behind Loki's back; neither are particularly surprising given that he hasn't seen fit to inform his council of this development so far – "and even Midgard is preparing, and will stand with us when the need arises."

 _Provided they never learn who's ruling in Asgard now_ , he mentally adds; at least for the next century or so, it will probably be futile to approach the mortals directly unless he's willing to take on Odin's appearance for the negotiations.

The thought is so grotesque that it makes his skin crawl, and he has to blink away the disconcerting image of looking in the mirror and having the Allfather's face stare back at him.

_Pull yourself together; you haven't won them over yet, and you can't afford to get distracted now._

"That leaves Niflheim." This time, Loki is certain that the barely audible gasp behind him is Frigga's. "The other eight realms tend to forget that Niflheim isn't nearly as dead as it appears, but in order for it to play a part in our line of defense, it would need a ruler able to rally and command those who dwell on it, and to prevent the Titan from using it as a beachhead in the attack he's planning. I have studied what little information on Thanos there is to be found in the libraries of Asgard and Vanaheim, and most writers claim that he is driven by his worship of death, by the obsessive idea that he needs to prove himself worthy of the Goddess of Death herself by sacrificing billions in her name."

The crowd barely reacts to what should be a deeply disturbing revelation, but then, everyone in Asgard probably knows the stories by now thanks to all those nights Loki spent spreading them.

He would probably have found those fantastic tales amusing when he first read them if he hadn't been only too aware of the Titan's real goals, of his quest for the Infinity Stones that would end his need to concern himself with trifles like the destruction of individual worlds. No other living creature within the Nine Realms has a way of knowing the truth, though, and Loki is determined to keep it that way for as long as possible. Besides, the rumors of Thanos' death-worshipping have provided him with an elegant solution to a problem that has become rather urgent after the report Sif gave him last night.

"Therefore, it seems to me that none would be better suited to keep Niflheim out of the Titan's grasp than the one he worships." _That_ certainly gets the audience's attention, and Loki has to raise his hand again to silence the whispers. "Yes, I know – Hela, Queen of the Dead, is a staple of every Aesir childhood, and only children would ever believe her to be more than a myth. However, it wasn't so long ago that I would have said the same thing about Thanos. Gatekeeper?"

Sif startles badly when Loki half-turns to address her, although she catches herself quickly. "My king?"

"Provide the lawspeakers with a summary of the report you gave me yesterday."

Sif seems taken aback for a second, but then she straightens and steps forward. With a twist of his finger, Loki enhances her voice so everyone in the huge hall will be able to hear her, causing her to do a slight double-take when she starts speaking.

"I was looking out at Niflheim and saw a castle where there had been nothing but a barren plain before. It belongs to a – a queen who sits on a throne of black thorns, and who appears to have gathered an army around her. I do not know her name, nor how she came to be on Niflheim, but I doubt she is planning to leave again anytime soon."

"Her name is Hela," Loki supplies, "and she is on Niflheim because I took her there and allowed her to take possession of the realm." Sif stares at him for a second, but then, remembering herself, bows tersely and returns to her place.

The people in the crowd are staring as well, and Loki can feel another shift in their mood; before, the lawspeakers were troubled and uncertain, but now they are _afraid_.

"Yes, there is a Goddess of Death after all," he states as matter-of-factly as possible; the last thing he wants is for Hela to become the center of a different kind of myth. "I encountered her in her dwelling outside of this dimension, and her powers were impressive enough that I was reluctant to let them go to waste. I opened a way to Niflheim for her and tethered her there; she cannot leave it without my permission, but the realm is hers to rule, and she will defend it against anyone who would take it from her, whether he worships her or not."

He gives the audience – and his councilors, who must be near-apoplectic by now – a moment to digest this information before he continues, "I imagine there will be those who would rather I hadn't taken the risk of allowing such a creature into the Nine, but I remain the one who holds her leash, and she will not be able to break free of her bonds on her own. Yes, she is dangerous, but so is every powerful weapon which still follows the hand that knows how to wield it."

_Does it make you uncomfortable to hear me speak openly of my sorcerous ways, people of Asgard? Odin used Asgard's magic for millennia, and on a much larger scale than I have ever used my seiðr, but he was careful not to flaunt it so you could still sleep soundly at night, wasn't he?_

_The time may yet come when you will be glad to have a sorcerer on the throne, and I will not allow you to forget it._

He doesn't quite suppress a smug little smile when he adds, "However, let me warn those who now feel the urge to go adventuring on Niflheim that Hela _is_ the Goddess of Death, and what she holds, she keeps."

He isn't going to leave it at that, of course – at some point, some foolish Aesir warrior _will_ undoubtedly decide he needs to go on an epic quest into Death's own domain if Loki doesn't prevent it, and he'd prefer his subjects not to get in direct contact with Hela for the time being. He makes a mental note to remind General Tyr that Asgard's warriors have more important things to do than take pointless risks for the sake of their thirst for glory; the general will probably be more than happy to be given another reason for keeping his charges in line.

"This, honored lawspeakers, is where we are right now." It's time to bring his speech to a close; Loki wants to end on the most important point he's trying to make, and right now the audience seems shaken up enough that he might just be able to get it across. "Everything I told you is true; I swear it on the ancient magic of Asgard and on my own seiðr." Loki lets a shimmer of green spread from his hand to Gungnir's shaft to emphasize his oath. "We are preparing for a challenge unlike any we have faced before, and the fight that awaits us will not be fought for glory, but for the survival of our realm and all those who live on it."

It's a calculated risk to stress this point so much, but Loki is well aware that the common people are far less concerned with Asgard's glory than her warriors – those who do _not_ define themselves by their fighting prowess know only too well that glory will neither feed their children nor care for their sick, neither build a roof over their head nor make the crops grow. The younger generation won't even remember a time when warfare wasn't just a pastime for a small, if highly respected, elite, but those old enough to have lived through Asgard's last true wars will not have forgotten what they meant for the people who were affected by them just as much as the warriors _without_ ever being lauded as heroes for it.

"This is no longer just a matter of sending out our troops and awaiting their victorious return so we can sing songs about their mighty deeds." Loki tries to instill his voice with all the gravity he can muster. "War will come to us, and we must be ready to meet it when it does – all of us, whether we are men or women, old or young, warriors or farmers, craftspeople or scholars. We will need every single one of our citizens to add their abilities to the effort of Asgard's defense, and we must allow neither fear nor exhaustion, neither old habits nor beloved traditions to stand in the way of our goal. Our old ways have served us well for millennia, but now the world as we knew it is about to be shaken to its core, and we must adapt to the changes that are afoot if we are to survive."

Loki pauses for a second; the hall is completely silent, and his own breath sounds overly loud in his ears when he inhales. "People of Asgard, I know how it feels to have the foundation of your existence ripped away from under you." They can't possibly understand what he really means – they will assume he is speaking of Odin and Thor, but the sentiment remains true nevertheless. _Do not look at Frigga, do not look at Frigga_ –

"There is nothing more terrifying than having everything you took for granted falling apart before your eyes, than knowing your will have to rebuild an entirely new future for yourself because everything you used to believe in is now in question. It is a difficult and painful task, but Asgard has never shied away from pain and hardship. I will not coddle you with empty promises – I cannot promise you that we will be victorious, that our realm will survive the danger that approaches, but I firmly believe that every one of you will do whatever it takes to make it so, that none of you will succumb to fear and despair while there is still breath in their body. My people, I give you my word as your king that I will do everything in my power to lead you safely through this greatest of trials, but it cannot just be my cause, it needs to be _ours_ , for we can only succeed together or not at all."

He looks around as if he were trying to meet the eyes of every single person in the audience before he raises his voice to make his final question reverberate through the entire hall. "Are you with me, people of Asgard?"

The crowd's answering roar is so loud it almost makes him recoil. He was doing everything he could to rile them up, but the intensity of their reaction still takes him by surprise – and it doesn't stop after the first round of 'Aye!'s, it rises to a cacophony of thousands of shouting voices. Loki expected the cries of "For Asgard!" and even "Long live the king!", but he was not prepared for the people to start screaming "Hail King Loki!" at the top of their lungs.

Loki finds himself frozen to the spot. He feels utterly blindsided – caught in a place that was never meant to be his, that he could only ever sneak into in his most secret fantasies. Yet here he his, with the same people who once barely acknowledged his existence now shouting his name as if he had revealed himself as their savior instead of confronting them with the grim reality of their approaching doom.

The thought is ridiculous enough to pull him out of his momentary stupor. They wouldn't be clamoring like that if they knew that he's trying to save Asgard from the Titan because it's the only small chance he can see of saving himself – but then, there's a reason he didn't swear to have told them the _entirety_ of the truth.

Loki does his best to keep his expression under control while he waits for the crowd to calm down, which, from the sound of it, might still be a while now that they've really hit their stride. He lets the shouts wash over him and ponders how fitting it seems that the best way to get recognition from the Aesir is apparently to promise them unspeakable danger.

If he had spelled it out to them how slim their odds really are, he thinks with cynical amusement, they would probably build him a statue in the palace courtyard before the day is out.

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year, everyone! Sorry for the lateness of this update – my internet connection died over the holidays, and it took forever to get it fixed. Hopefully, I'll be able to get back to my usual updating schedule now; in the meantime, here's an extra-long chapter to make up for the long wait ;-)

It was a given from the start of the preparations that the opening of the Allthing would not be complete without a feast, which left Loki with the practical problem that not even the biggest banquet hall in the palace could seat the entirety of the assembly. It was Frigga who suggested to move the whole affair to the central courtyard, where Asgard usually celebrates the return of a victorious army. For those victory feasts, the food is served on long tables lining the sides of the courtyard, allowing the guests to help themselves and then mingle at their leisure so they can meet all the warriors and hear the stories they have to tell.

Loki balked at the idea at first because he found it too undignified for the occasion, but he has to concede the wisdom behind the Allmother's suggestion as he walks among the lawspeakers now. He's by himself – he made his entrance into the courtyard with the queen dowager on his arm, but then left her among her ladies so he could continue unaccompanied. The two royal guards who are shadowing him are keeping a very discreet distance; they weren't happy with his order to stay in the background, but he must never appear afraid of his own people, and after today's events, he's probably safer among the commoners than among the members of his court anyway.

He spent most of last night going over his speech again and again, weighing every word and memorizing every turn of phrase until he was certain he would be able to deliver it exactly as planned. Earlier, he was so on edge that he didn't even notice his weariness, but now that the tension is finally beginning to ease, he'd love nothing better than to crawl into his bed and sleep for a week. It's not an option, of course; this part is at least as important as his speech was, since the apparent informality of the gathering (Loki makes a mental note not to doubt Frigga's judgment in such matters again) allows him to interact with a great number of people who would never even have come near him under different circumstances. The lawspeakers will remember his speech, but a personal conversation with their king is still another thing entirely, so every word Loki speaks now carries far more weight than the deceptively casual atmosphere suggests.

With that in mind, Loki stays away from the mead after the traditional opening toast since he'll need his wits about him. Given the topic of his earlier speech, he expects that he will have to answer a lot of questions about the impending fight against Thanos, and perhaps even more about his agreement with the Jötun kings. He isn't happy about either prospect – he still wants to flinch every time he has to speak the Titan's name, and last nights' efforts to perfect his arguments for an alliance with Jötunheim have led him to the uncomfortable realization that he is actually fulfilling the purpose Odin had in mind when he stole an abandoned ( _sacrificed_ , Byleistr's voice whispers in Loki's mind as if it made the slightest difference) Frost Giant whelp from a desecrated temple.

_I thought we could bring about an alliance, a permanent peace through you – but those plans no longer matter._

_You might have shown a little more faith in your own lies, Allfather_ , Loki thinks viciously, although the defiance feels hollow. _Are you pleased with the use you're finally getting out of your stolen relic? Or would you have preferred it to remain lost forever rather than disgracing your golden throne?_

Pushing the thought aside, he strikes up a conversation with the Chief Lawspeaker, but makes a point to include several of the bystanders as a clear signal to all guests that they're allowed to talk to him. Once the lawspeakers overcome their initial hesitation (elected representatives or not, it's far from usual for commoners to be given the chance to address their king), they are ready enough to approach him.

Loki quickly realizes that he was entirely wrong to assume that the lawspeakers would want to ask him for details on the matters he spoke of during the opening ceremony. He can tell that they took his announcements seriously enough, but apparently they either don't feel the need to press him for further information or assume it's not their place to do so. The things they wish to discuss are far more mundane – problems with the local administration, quarrels between neighbors, bridges and roads in disrepair, an outbreak of sickness caused by unclean water, and a dozen other issues that trouble the people they're representing.

Loki finds himself pleasantly surprised that most lawspeakers come to him with problems which can actually be resolved, sometimes with very little effort on his part. He doesn't even have to speak that much; instead, he ends up doing a great deal of listening and nodding along to various complaints, sometimes promising to look into the matter himself, more often delegating the issue to a royal official or a member of his council. Lady Irpa seems genuinely happy to help with the problem of peddlers from Nidavellir flooding one of the southern provinces with cheap ironwork, putting the local smiths out of business, while Lord Fjorgynn looks less than pleased when Loki asks him to sort out the clerical error that caused the tax load of a small town in the eastern mountains to triple last year. Fjorgynn's mulish acknowledgement of the order leaves Loki determined to find (or create, if he has to) at least three more annoying taxation issues for the old chancellor to deal with before the evening is out.

"My king?"

The middle-aged woman who addressed Loki bobs an awkward curtsy when he turns to face her. Her clothes are plain, but of good quality, and while her hands show signs of hard work, her skin is pale enough to indicate that she gets to spend most of her time under a roof.

"Yes, Lawspeaker…?"

"Ölrun Einarsdottir from the Iðavöllr province, representing the hamlet of Hrafnaholt, my king." She sounds even more nervous than she looks, which is hardly surprising; under normal circumstances, a woman like her would probably never have set foot in the palace, let alone found herself in a position to speak with the king.

"There's something you wish to bring to my attention, Ölrun Einarsdottir?"

"There is, my king." She hesitates, but then presses on. "Forgive me for bothering you with such a small matter, but when I heard you say today that everyone needs to add their abilities to our defense, I thought that... that I should at least ask your opinion."

Loki wishes she would get to the point, but he can't appear impatient with the people whose favor he's trying to curry, so he gives her an encouraging nod and gestures for her to go on. She draws a small dagger from her belt (Loki discreetly waves off the guards who want to close in – she's hardly going to be a threat to him armed with something that is more pocketknife than weapon) and holds it out towards him on her palm. "My son enchanted this for me so it will never grow dull."

Managing not to show his surprise, Loki takes the dagger to inspect it. The uneven feel of the enchantment indicates an inexperienced caster, but it's still a neat little cantrip; what's truly extraordinary about it, though, is the fact that a woman from some countryside backwater would admit to her _male_ child casting it.

"How old is your son?"

"Halfway through his third century, my king."

Loki raises an eyebrow. "Then he is quite talented; it is rare for a child so young to have this level of control over their magic."

The woman blushes. "You are kind to say so, my king. My husband is a weaponsmith, and he wants our son to learn his trade, but the boy –"

Loki doesn't need to hear the rest since it's obvious enough. "He wishes to be trained as a mage, but your husband won't allow it?"

"It's not quite that, my king." She chews her lower lip for a moment before she continues. "My husband is not an unreasonable man, but – there are a few witches in our neighborhood, but none of them would ever take on a boy as her apprentice. But if he has talent, it seems to me that it shouldn't go to waste, and after what you said –"

"– you think that a dedicated sorcerer is of more use to Asgard than a weaponsmith whose heart isn't in his work."

_Some do battle, others just do tricks..._

Loki idly taps the flat of the dagger's blade against his palm, trying to decide whether he should pursue the idea he has just had. On the one hand, it doesn't seem wise to step on even _more_ toes than he already has today, but on the other – how many times during this childhood has he secretly wished that he had been born a girl so he could study seiðr without being constantly mocked for it?

"Indeed, my king." The woman hesitates again before she adds, "I know very little of magic, but I'm aware that he won't be of much use to anyone if he doesn't get properly trained, and – if I may, my king, people say that you had the Allmother to teach you, but..."

"...but few other boys are so lucky."

Ölrun Einarsdottir nods. "If I had a daughter with that kind of talent, I could present her to the Volur to see if they consider her worthy to be trained, but I know of no place where they teach magic to boys."

"I do, but none of them are on Asgard. Are you sure, though, that your son understands the implications of his choice?" Loki hopes that his tone conveys the seriousness of his question. "I need not tell you that the life of an Aesir sorcerer isn't always an easy one."

Her worried expression leaves no doubt that it's something she has given a great deal of thought. "I've tried to warn him about it, but maybe he's still too young, and lately... he has never said so, but I believe he hopes that things might change, now that Asgard's most powerful mage is also her king."

Loki isn't quite sure what to do with the revelation that there might be people who consider _him_ a champion for their cause. Then again, he clearly remembers his first visit to Alfheim's court when he was barely older than the boy they're currently discussing, and how utterly thrilled he was to see King Freyr cast spells in front of everyone without so much as a raised eyebrow among the courtiers. Asgard has always been glacially slow to change her ways, but didn't he just warn the Aesir that change was upon them whether they liked it or not?

His decision made, Loki signals one of the pages who walk around with pitchers of mead to refill everyone's goblets. "Find Lady Gullveig and tell her I need to speak with her right away."

"At once, my king!" The page dashes off, causing the small crowd of eavesdroppers who overheard the exchange to inch closer now that things seem about to get interesting. Loki doesn't stop them; he _wants_ an audience for this.

"You know you will be parted from your son if he is to be trained?"

The woman's eyes fill with tears, but she nods resolutely. "I know, my king."

"Well, then – ah, Lady Gullveig!"

The old volva wheezes as if Loki's summons had forced her to run across the entire palace, but he's well aware it's entirely for show. "You wished to speak with me, my king?"

"I want to show you something." Loki hands her the dagger and notices with faint amusement how she immediately stops pretending to be out of breath now that her interest is piqued. "The enchantment on it is the work of a child not even three hundred years old."

Lady Gullveig purses her lips as she runs one gnarled finger along the dagger's blade. "A child with little training, I take it."

"None, according to the mother." Ölrun Einarsdottir opens her mouth, but Loki gestures for her to remain silent.

"Foolish and dangerous, that." Loki isn't entirely certain whether Gullveig is still speaking to him or to the mother, who has gone very pale at the volva's words. "Power of this kind can get out of hand quickly if it isn't properly harnessed, and that takes time and effort. The girl definitely needs to be taught; bring her to me so I can assess her properly, then the Volur will decide how to best go about her training."

" _His_ training," Loki corrects casually and pretends not to notice the old woman's startled double-take. "But apart from that, I entirely agree with you, Lady Gullveig. The boy – you didn't mention his name earlier, Lawspeaker?"

The mother's cheeks color slightly. "Ansgar Egilson, my king."

Without missing a beat, Loki continues before Gullveig can get a word in. "Ansgar Egilson is clearly talented and should be trained so that Asgard may benefit from his gift. I'm glad to hear that you're willing to see to his education; I can't think of anyone I'd rather entrust with a student who is showing such promise."

Judging by her glare, Gullveig remains utterly unimpressed by his blatant flattery. "It would be an outrageous breach of tradition, my king."

Loki's polite smile doesn't waver. "Akin to appointing a volva to the king's council?"

Her scowl deepens, but he has her cold and she knows it. Still, the eldest of the Volur isn't going to give in without a fight. "My king, even if one _were_ willing to spit in the face of tradition and propriety, the Volur simply don't have the means to take on male students – our teaching facilities are modest, our living quarters even more so, and there simply isn't enough room for the separate lodgings we would need in order to house a boy on the premises."

 _And so the haggling begins_. Loki is enough of a diplomat to know that it's the kind of victory you need to be gracious about if you don't want the price of the peace you're negotiating to go through the roof.

"It's a valid objection," he concedes, "although I believe that the problem will be easily resolved once the royal treasury releases the funds the Volur requested several months ago for the renovation and enlargement of their student quarters. My treasurer is a very busy man, but I will make sure to inform him that the matter is of some urgency, and that the requested sum will need to be doubled in order to allow the Volur to accommodate male students as well."

Gullveig seems honestly taken aback, and less inclined to be diplomatic about it. "You're willing to throw that kind of money at us for the sake of one boy?"

Loki refrains from admitting that he was planning to give them the money anyway; it has always been his firm belief that even your allies should never feel so sure of your support that they take it for granted. "He won't remain the only one once word gets out, trust me. As soon as there is a chance for boys born with seiðr to claim their birthright, there will be those who have the courage to take it – as much as Asgard would like to pretend that their gift is some kind of shameful defect they need to hide."

He glances at the boy's mother, who is following the discussion with wide eyes. "Lawspeaker Ölrun Einarsdottir was right to remind me of my own words – that we will need _everyone_ to add their talents to the effort of Asgard's defense. Do I have to tell _you_ of the damage a trained battle mage can inflict, Lady Gullveig? Or of the value of a capable healer on the battlefield? You know very well that we are in no position to squander any kind of seiðr our people might possess." He valiantly keeps himself from smirking when he adds, "I have it on good authority that men can occasionally turn out to be powerful mages too."

He can see the effect his remark has on the bystanders, who start whispering among themselves; while they're distracted, Loki casts a quick spell to ensure that only Gullveig will hear his next words. "I promise you that I will neither ask you to accept men into your order nor interfere in any other way in the internal affairs of the Volur. All I ask of you, Lady Gullveig, is not to bar children from following their calling just because they were born with the wrong gender."

He knows he has won when Gullveig's shoulders slump ever so slightly. "And you are willing to face the outcry this will cause, my king?"

This time Loki doesn't try to suppress his smirk any more. "Have we met, Lady Gullveig?"

The look she gives him is one quarter amusement and three quarters exasperation, but Loki can live with that. He ends the spell with a flick of fingers before he adds, now entirely serious again, "Anyone who disagrees with the Volur's decision to train all children who are sufficiently gifted can bring their objections to me." He's well aware that there will be far more than mere _objections_ , but he hopes that the king's open support will at least mitigate the harassment that awaits those boys and their families.

"Lawspeaker Ölrun Einarsdottir, I commend your courage, and I trust that your son will prove just as brave in the face of the challenges he will have to overcome." Loki politely averts his gaze when he notices the tears that are running over the woman's cheeks. "I look forward to hearing about his progress."

The last sentence was spoken in Lady Gullveig's direction, who narrows her eyes at him in a clear (if far from appreciative) acknowledgement of the message. Loki can't do more than that within the constraints of his promise to the Volur; the rest will be up to Ansgar Egilson, who will have to find out for himself whether he was wise to choose Loki of all people as his role model.

+++

It's almost midnight when Loki finally decides that he has done everything he can for today. He feels like he has spoken to at least a thousand people, who grew more and more talkative thanks to the free-flowing mead as the evening wore on, and by now he's so tired that his head is spinning and his cheeks are aching from wearing the same polite smile for hours on end.

He breathes a sigh of relief when he steps out of the humid summer air of the courtyard and into the blessedly cool hallways of the palace. He's about to dismiss the guards who are _still_ dogging his heels (and he's fully prepared to skywalk back to his quarters if they don't leave him alone right this instant) when he hears heavy footsteps approaching.

Loki groans inwardly when he recognizes General Tyr; apparently he still isn't going to get any sleep. "General?"

"I apologize for the lateness of the hour, my king, but I need to speak with you in private."

Loki rolls his eyes. "Unless you also don't wish to be _seen_ speaking with me, General, there would have been no need to waylay me in a dark hallway; all it would have taken me to make sure we weren't overheard during the feast was a simple spell that works just as well in the middle of a crowd."

Tyr's grimace is impossible to miss even in the flickering torchlight. Loki is perfectly aware that the general doesn't appreciate the blatant reminder of his casual use of magic, but the exhaustion is beginning to make him irritable, so Tyr will just have to deal with it.

Maybe Ansgar Egilson will thank him one day – if he lives long enough, that is, because Thanos will likely reach the Nine long before the boy even finishes his training.

If Loki had needed a reminder that he can ill afford to alienate General Tyr, this thought would have more than served the purpose.

He waves impatiently at the two guards, who _finally_ take the hint and stay where they are when Loki starts walking again and gestures for the general to follow. One doesn't need Frigga's prophetic gift to predict the topic Tyr will want to discuss, so Loki gets right to the point.

"I take it you are displeased with the things I said in my speech before the Allthing."

If the general is surprised by Loki's blunt approach, he doesn't show it. "With some of them, my king. It is your prerogative not to heed our counsel, but it's quite another matter to paint your councilors as a bunch of schemers who try to keep the truth from Asgard's people."

"Interesting." Loki keeps his tone even. "Does the fact that the council _did_ try to keep the truth from Asgard's people carry any weight in this matter?"

"You agreed with our reasoning!" Tyr's voice is getting loud enough to make Loki glad that he did cast that silencing spell when he dismissed the guards; nobody knows better than him that the halls of the palace are never entirely deserted even at night.

"No, I _listened_ to your reasoning and then made my own decision." Loki stops walking and turns to give the old soldier a hard look. "I value your opinion, General, but that doesn't mean I won't keep my own counsel if I consider it necessary. I have every faith in your loyalty, but you know as well as I do that the same isn't true for everyone on the council."

"And yet you claim that you spoke truth when you told the lawspeakers that you are sure your councilors mean well?"

Loki smiles without humor. "Oh, I'm convinced they all have _someone's_ best interests at heart, but there's a reason I didn't specify _whose_ interests."

Tyr's expression darkens further. "And now you rule with the people's love while the same people consider your councilors a lot of conniving liars who are not to be trusted. Is this what you wanted, my king?"

"I can certainly appreciate the irony." Loki supposes he _is_ going to have a good laugh about the whole matter at some point, but now is not the time. Contrary to what Tyr seems to believe, he isn't going to put any stock in the kind of 'love' than can be won with a rousing speech and a few kind words – he needs the people's support if his plans are to have any chance of succeeding, but he's never going to lose sight of the fact that public opinion is a fickle thing that can be turned against him just as easily as he turned it against his opponents on the council today.

The general squares his shoulders. "Then I don't see why you would still wish for me to serve on your council, my king."

"Really." Loki allows his voice to harden. "I wouldn't have expected the leader of Asgard's army to abandon his post at the first sign of adversity." He holds up a hand to cut off Tyr's angry reply before the old soldier forgets himself entirely and says something a king can't forgive. "Peace, General. I realize that you're a warrior first and a politician second, but even so, you must be aware that I am not yet in a position to remove those from the council who are working to undermine me as long as they don't openly commit treason. I cannot hold the alliance against the Titan together if I constantly have to watch my back in my own halls; I need to flush out the rats before they start eating away at the very foundations of my rule."

"And the only way to achieve that is to undermine the credibility of the council as a whole?"

"Yes." Loki fully intended his answer to sound harsh. "It shouldn't matter to those of you who choose to remain loyal since you supposedly serve _me_ and not your own image in the eyes of the populace. Or are you threatening to resign because you can't stand the idea of the people no longer singing songs in your honor?"

Tyr bristles. "That's easy for you to say now that they will sing them in yours!"

"Do you think I _care_?" Tyr seems taken aback by the sudden outburst, but Loki barely notices; it's downright liberating to get to yell at someone at last. "Do you think any of it will matter when Thanos walks through the ashes of the Nine? Are you truly so blinded by your petty concerns that you still can't understand that we're fighting for our _survival_ , General?"

Tyr's earlier belligerence has given way to alarm. "My king, I didn't mean to –"

"Don't try to lie to me, General, I'm far better at it than you." Loki is still out of breath, but he feels eerily calm now. "If there is something you want to say to me, go ahead and say it. Do you wish to resign from the council?"

The old man straightens like a soldier standing to attention. "I do not, my king. Asgard's defense has always been my first duty, and I will not lose sight of that fact."

"I'm glad to hear it." Loki knows he needs to offer some kind of conciliatory gesture in return even if would prefer to just turn on his heel and walk away. "I meant what I said earlier, General – I value your counsel, whether I decide to heed it or not, and you've never given me reason to doubt your loyalty."

It sounds like faint praise to him, but the general acknowledges it with a warrior's salute nevertheless. "I thank you, my king."

Loki nods solemnly and then, Tyr's delicate sensibilities be damned, finally allows himself to slip away into the space between worlds. He skywalks straight into the beckoning solitude of his bedchamber with every intention to be fast asleep within the next five minutes.

+++

An hour later, Loki is still sitting on his bed with his back against the headboard, the soft gleam of a hovering magelight shimmering through his closed eyelids and his hands clenched into fists in his lap so he can pretend they aren't shaking.

He has been nervous about this day ever since he first realized that he needed to lure Asgard's people into _wanting_ to follow him towards the cataclysm that is looming ahead, and now that it's done, that everything went according to plan, went _better_ than he could possibly have hoped, he can't bring himself to let go of the tension that sometimes felt like the only thing holding him together these past weeks.

_You rule with the people's love._

Loki wants to laugh at the memory of Tyr's claim, but he isn't sure what kind of sound he would end up making if he tried. He just _knows_ that everything is going to fall apart the moment he lets himself believe it, that the price he pays for his triumphs is always, _always_ higher than he can afford.

Loki digs his nails into his palms and wills his racing heartbeat to slow down. He can't allow himself to go to pieces, as tempting as it would be to curl up into a ball and just let go, to hide in the illusive safety of his heavily warded bed like a child who is afraid of the darkness – he needs to stay ahead of the panic he can always feel snapping at his heels, needs to shut away every emotion that might prevent him from focusing on what needs to be done because he knows he'll drown if he ever fails to keep that particular dam from breaking.

His neck starts prickling with tiny flashes of pain, and for a moment, the physical discomfort serves as a welcome distraction, but then the pain spreads, a sensation of pins and needles creeping down his shoulders into his arms, and lower still until it feels like his whole body is falling asleep like a limb with a compressed nerve.

Alarmed, Loki tries to take a deep breath and finds that he can't, that his body refuses to obey him when he attempts to move. With desperate effort, he manages to at least pry his eyelids open and –

_Oh, brother, you're becoming predictable._

Thor is standing right before him, leaning in until he fills Loki's entire field of vision, and Loki can't move, can't even look away from the face that is both familiar and entirely alien because Thor is _sneering_ at him with an expression as foreign to the brother he remembers as Thor's sunny smile would be on Loki's face. He has seen Thor joyful and enraged and heartbroken, but not like this, _never_ like this, and the sickening travesty causes a cold, hard knot of fury to form underneath the paralyzing terror that keeps him frozen in place.

 _Round and round in circles we go_ , the apparition that is not, _cannot_ be Thor mocks him, its voice dripping disdain, and Loki reaches for the fury and holds on to it with all his might, letting its hot rush slice through the numbness like a knife through wet clay until he regains control of his body and leaps to his feet with a strangled cry.

The magelight flares up, and Loki, heart racing and breath coming in short gasps, is left blinking in the sudden brightness.

His bedroom is empty; Thor (the thing that _looked_ like Thor, it wasn't Thor, Thor is _dead_ ) has disappeared.

+++

Pulling the invisibility spell more closely around himself, Loki slips into the throne room without making a sound. To his great relief, he finds it almost empty; the few maidservants who are still scrubbing the flagstones at the far end of the vast hall have almost finished their work, and by the time Loki has climbed up the steps to the throne, the women are gathering their cleaning supplies together and get ready to leave.

He waits until the sound of their chatter is cut off by the closing door of the servants' entrance before he drops the spell and sits down. Hliðskjálf's golden seat is as uncomfortable as ever, but tonight, Loki barely notices. He's so exhausted that he's beginning to tremble all over, but he still feels like a bow strung to the point of snapping; there's no way he'll be able to sleep tonight, so he might as well occupy the remaining hours until morning with something useful.

He hasn't had time to continue his search for the remaining Infinity Stones for weeks, and even though he's not nearly at his best right now, he's well aware that he can't afford to waste any more of the grace period he has left before the Titan gets to the Stones first. Half-dead on his feet as he is, Loki knows he is in no condition to focus the throne's Sight properly, but he can't rely on his own senses in this particular search anyway.

Emptying his mind as much as possible, Loki gently reaches out towards the two Gems in his magical hold. The Tesseract awakens first, its gentle hum soothing his frayed nerves like a cool breeze on sunburnt skin; the Aether, as always, is slower to respond, but eventually Loki feels its deeper, harsher thrumming join in with its sibling. He pulls back slowly, allowing the Gems to attune themselves to the steady pulse of Asgard's magic through the conduit of Loki's own seiðr until he can cast their joined consciousness out into the vastness of the universe that is laid out before Hliðskjálf's Sight.

The moment the Gems start taking over almost comes as a relief. Loki can finally let go, can content himself with following the pull of the two Infinity Stones without constantly having to guard his mind against inadvertently crossing the Titan's path and drawing his attention like a fly caught in a spider's web. For all his power, not even Thanos will be able to feel the Stones' search for their scattered siblings unless he himself has one of the Infinity Gems in his possession – and if he does, Loki thinks with a nearly serene kind of detachment, he, Asgard, the Nine, and probably the whole universe are pretty much fucked anyway.

Loki loses all sense of time as he drifts along with the Tesseract and the Aether pulling him further and further, flooding him with impressions he can neither fully discern nor comprehend until he feels like he's floating outside his body, his consciousness as tiny and insignificant as a dust particle in the unimaginable expanse of the cosmos. It's both fearsome and strangely peaceful, like those first seconds after letting go of Gungnir and sinking into the icy depths of space, anguish and hope falling away like shards of the shattered Rainbow Bridge until there was nothing left but the song of the Void –

There's a deep, vibrating sound as if the universe itself were a chord being plucked; it startles Loki back into alertness, his mind filling with images that slowly get clearer as he struggles to focus on them.

_Sand dunes alternating with shallow pools around the base of a mountain, the crumbling spires at its towering summit lit by the reddish glow of a fading sun; a tiny pinprick of soft golden light pulsing at the edge of the precipice –_

Loki can feel his two Gems calling out, a low, yearning sound that is as glorious as it is terrifying.

He has found the Soul Stone.

 

 

 


	22. Chapter 22

The only thing Loki can see when the portal closes behind him are the swirling wisps of a blackish-violet mist that surrounds him. The lack of view doesn't come as a surprise; it's exactly what the throne's Sight showed him before he stepped through the portal the Tesseract had opened for him, following the pull of the Space Stone and its sibling even though he still has no idea what he's gotten himself into.

He has wasted several days trying to pinpoint the exact location of this place, but it is either so far away from Yggdrasil or so well hidden within its branches that there seems to be no knowledge of its existence among the Nine Realms. Every instinct Loki possesses warned him against throwing himself into an unknown situation with a blindfold over his eyes, but since the alternative was risking the Titan getting here first, there just was no way to avoid it.

Loki can't tell whether the eerie silence around him is real or just a result of the strange fog swallowing up every sound, but now that his eyes are adjusting to the gloom, he can vaguely make out the silhouettes of two towering spires that rise out of the rocky ground. From his first vision of this place through Hliðskjálf's Sight, he recognizes the temple-like structure he saw sitting on top of a steep mountain. The gaping precipice right next to the crumbling building remains hidden in the mist, but the knowledge that it's there is enough to freeze Loki in his tracks, reminding him that he must not take a single step if he can't see clearly where he's going.

"Welcome, Loki, King of Asgard."

It takes all of Loki's self-control not to flinch back when the gravelly voice speaks up right in front of him. The hooded figure it belongs to doesn't slowly emerge from the retreating mist, it's just _there_ between one second and the next as if it had been standing there the whole time and he had just failed to notice it.

The dramatic appearance is probably meant to unnerve him, but Loki is too well-versed in the uses of a little drama himself to fall for it. In his experience, few who hold real power have need of such theatrics.

"Am I supposed to be impressed by the fact that you know me?"

The figure shrugs. "It is my curse to know all who journey here. What you seek lies in front of you… as does what you fear."

Loki doesn't grace the ominous announcement with a reaction. "It seems rather rude not to introduce yourself in return."

"Consider me a guide." Is it just wishful thinking, or does the apparition sound a little irritated? "To you, and to all who seek the Soul Stone."

Loki's heart skips a beat. "Others have sought it before?" If that's true, if Thanos has already found his way to this place –

"Thousands have, and many are seeking it still," the figure intones, interrupting Loki's silent fretting, "but none have come to Vormir since I was appointed its Keeper a lifetime ago, and none will ever find the Stone without me leading them to it."

Loki mentally files the name away to look it up later, but right now, he has other things to worry about. 'A lifetime ago' isn't terribly useful as a frame of reference since he doesn't know the creature's species, but unless it belongs to one of the rare races that mature and wither away in the course of a few months, it's probably at least safe to assume that – if it actually spoke truth – Thanos hasn't been to this place since Loki escaped his clutches.

Breathing decidedly easier, Loki changes tack. "What makes you so certain that I am seeking the Soul Stone?"

The creature seems taken aback. "Why would you come here if you weren't?" It sounds downright wistful when it adds, "I, too, sought the Stones. I even held one in my hand – but it cast me out, banished me here to guide others to a treasure _I_ cannot possess."

It glides a little closer, providing Loki with a glimpse of the face underneath the dark hood. There was a time when the ghastly view of a skull that appears to be covered by a thin, glistening layer of rotting flesh would have made his stomach turn, but now the sight triggers a flood of stolen memories instead.

Does his Hawk still feel Loki inside his mind the way Loki can sometimes feel him in his? Loki isn't certain what kind of answer he'd prefer to the question, but he doesn't have time to ponder it anyway as he sifts through Clint Barton's surprisingly detailed knowledge of the man (if he can still be considered that) before him. The Red Skull, leader of HYDRA and Captain America's arch-nemesis –

It takes Loki a moment to realize that the flash of gut-wrenching revulsion that hits him isn't his own – it's coming from the Tesseract, whose steady, comforting pulse has turned into a shrill cacophony of outraged noises at the back of Loki's mind. The Stone isn't afraid – Loki can't think of anything _to_ fear for an Infinity Stone – but utterly disgusted, and there can be no doubt that its loathing is directed at the creature before him.

…the creature who once was the mortal Johann Schmidt, who sought to rule the world through the power of the Tesseract but was allegedly destroyed when he touched it –

_I even held one in my hand – but it cast me out, banished me here…_

A vague idea is beginning to form in Loki's brain, but the Red Skull grows impatient with his prolonged silence before he can pursue the thought further.

"You should know that the Soul Stone extracts a terrible price."

It's Loki's turn to shrug. "Who's going to prevent me from just taking it? You?"

The creature seems amused by the question, which is a downright grotesque expression on a face that's already frozen in a skull's everlasting grin. "Soul holds a special place among the Infinity Stones. Whoever possesses it needs to understand its power, and to ensure that they do, it demands a sacrifice – yet you are standing here empty-handed."

Loki feels an uneasy prickling in the pit of his stomach. "What kind of sacrifice?"

The Red Skull's leer intensifies. "A soul for a soul. In order to take the Stone, you must lose that which you love."

_And so, Laufey-King decided to offer to the Winter Gods the life of his magical boy-child, for it was not for the father to save his son when he king had to save his people…_

Banishing the sudden, utterly unwelcome memory of King Byleistr's voice from his mind, Loki tries instead to focus on the challenge the abomination before him has just thrown at him. "You realize that's impossible?"

"Only if you're too weak to do what is necessary." The creature sounds smug, as if the concept of getting to watch someone sacrifice their most beloved pleased it greatly. "Will you be strong enough to return here with the price that is asked of you, King of Asgard?"

Loki dismisses the thinly-veiled insult with a careless wave of his hand. "I hardly consider myself an expert on the matter, but I would argue that the willingness to sacrifice someone in order to get something you want is a strong indicator that you _don't_ love that person." He pauses as if to give the Stonekeeper time to follow his reasoning. "Therefore, you only truly love that which you will _not_ sacrifice for your own benefit. Is this some kind of riddle I'm supposed to solve, or are you just trying to keep me away from the Stone by confusing me?"

The question actually seems to confuse the Red Skull. "I am not here to prevent you from winning the Stone, just to make sure you pay the price."

"A price that cannot be paid." Loki makes a show of appearing thoughtful. "Since you called yourself cursed, are you sure it's not just the nature of the curse that you can never fulfil your task?"

The creature's eyes narrow. "You are trying to trick me, God of Lies. I know what you are, but your silver tongue will not avail you here."

"I did not come here to trick you, but... maybe we could strike a bargain." Loki's thoughts are racing – he's on very thin ice here, but the idea he had earlier is beginning to take shape in his mind, and the possible gain if this actually works seems worth the risk. "You claim that nobody knows how to get to the Soul Stone but you?"

"I and whoever comes here and asks for my guidance."

"Which none have done so far." Loki keeps his voice steady even though it costs him some effort. This part is crucial; it will all be for naught if anyone else is aware of the Soul Stone's price.

The Red Skull shoots him an impatient look. "None but you."

Loki inhales deeply and lays the snare. "Could you give it to me?"

The Stonekeeper laughs out loud at the question; the sound makes Loki's skin crawl in a way that renders the Tesseract's earlier reaction to this monstrosity highly relatable. "Even if I could, why would I do that?"

"Because," Loki replies as evenly as he can manage, "I can offer you what _you_ love in return."

It's a bold gamble he's taking, but the combination of Barton's memories, the Red Skull's own words and the Tesseract's affronted revulsion is enough to convince him that there is a chance this will work, that he might actually be able to keep another Stone out of Thanos' grasp if things go according to plan now.

Steeling himself, Loki mentally reaches out towards the Tesseract. To his relief, it doesn't lash out at him, although he still feels it tensing like a cornered animal when he gently coaxes it towards him. _Fear not, I will not relinquish you, and I will never leave you in the hands of a creature whose very existence is a blight on the face of the universe._

Feigning a confidence he definitely isn't feeling, Loki pulls the Space Stone out of his dimensional pocket and holds it out towards the Red Skull.

The creature's sunken eyes go impossibly wide; it makes a noise like a wounded beast that's about to attack out of sheer desperation –

_You really are the worst brother._

The sound of Thor's voice in his mind hits Loki like the blow of a hammer. His throat constricts with a feeling of such intense dread and utter, hopeless despair that it almost brings him to his knees as he struggles to breathe through the sudden panic; the swirling mists seem to close in, darkening his vision and leaving him with nothing but the impression of cold, cruel eyes staring at him out of a face that has haunted his nightmares ever since he first saw it before him –

Thankfully, the Red Skull appears far too distracted by the sight of the cube in Loki's hand to even notice his agitation; its eyes remain fixed on the Stone as if it were the only thing in the universe that mattered. Loki grits his teeth and, breath still coming in short gasps, manages to keep his hand steady by sheer force of will.

"The _Tesseract_." The creature's words start with a whisper and end in a screech. "You will not keep it from me again – it is MINE!"

"Take it, then." Loki's own voice is almost as rough as the Red Skull's, but the creature isn't hearing him anyway. It glides closer, its claw-like hands reaching for the cube whose soft blue glow lights up its ghoulish features in a way that sends a shiver down Loki's spine, but he isn't going to falter now. Every book on the Infinity Stones he has read contained dire warnings against ever touching them; neither the Tesseract nor the Aether have harmed him so far, but given the Space Stone's revulsion he can still feel reverberating through his own consciousness, he thinks – hopes – the same will not be true for the monster that approaches it.

Then the bony fingers close around the cube.

There's a high, metallic sound that sets Loki's teeth on edge; the Tesseract lights up in a blaze of blinding blue-white that forces him to shield his eyes with his free hand. The Red Skull screams, a shrill, earsplitting wail that seems to go on forever as the Tesseract flares in Loki's hand until, finally, the scream ends in a gurgling groan.

The afterimage of the flash still dances before Loki's eyes when he finally dares to open them. The light has faded; the cube has fallen silent but for the ever-present, gentle hum at the back of Loki's mind. It doesn't resist when he slips it back into his dimensional pocket, where it settles with a last soft pulse of something that feels like vindication.

Loki finally manages to draw a deep breath when he sees the Red Skull – or rather, what is left of the creature – on the ground at his feet. It isn't dead, but whatever it was the Tesseract had done to the man it had once been to make its monstrous flesh endure well beyond the natural lifespan of a Midgardian mortal, it's obviously gone now.

The man who was Johann Schmidt is little more than a sack of bones covered by withered, wrinkled skin; his yellow eyes are milky and unseeing, and his voice is barely more than a raspy whisper when he tries to speak.

"You utter fool." The words are followed by a sound that could be a chuckle or a suppressed sob. "What did you hope to gain from my destruction? _My_ death will not get you the Soul Stone – _none_ will get to it now that there is no Stonekeeper to guide them!"

"We can but hope," Loki replies and, summoning a dagger, slices through the creature's neck with a single swift stroke. There's no more blood than if he had beheaded a centuries-old mummy; the body twitches once, and then stills.

With a twist of his hand, Loki sets the remains on fire; the emaciated corpse lights up like dry tinder. The flames cast eerie shadows into the mists that are still swirling around the mountaintop, veiling the resting place of the Soul Stone which will hopefully be safe now that there is no one to share the secret of its retrieval with Thanos even if the Titan or his children should manage to find this place.

It's impossible to miss the soft pang of yearning that comes from the two Infinity Stones in Loki's magical hold, but he knows how dangerous it would be to give in to their desire to be reunited with their lost siblings. There's a mournful undertone to the Tesseract's familiar song, but it doesn't resist when Loki taps into its power to open a portal that will take him back to Asgard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of Red Skull's lines are taken from the scripts of "Avengers – Infinity War" and "Avengers – Endgame".


End file.
